'• 


GENTLEMAN 
RAGMAN 


WILBUR  NESBIT 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

JOHNNY  THOMPSON'S  STORY 
OF    THE    EMIGGER 


BY 


WILBUR    NESBIT 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  TRAIL  TO  BOYLAND" 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

HARPER   £r  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

i  906 


Copyright,  1906,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  rtstrved. 

Published  September,  1906. 


PS' 
3527 


a 


TO 
MY   FATHER  AND  MOTHER 


THE  GENTLEMAN   RAGMAN 


THE  GENTLEMAN  RAGMAN 


THE  Emigger  came  to  town  last  April  on 
election-day,  and  he  has  been  in  our  midst 
ever  since.  I  was  almost  the  first  person 
he  talked  to  after  he  got  here,  and  he  says 
I  was  the  first  person  he  saw  that  he  liked. 
Most  likely  that  was  because  I  was  polite  and 
agreeable  to  him,  and  did  my  best  to  give  him 
what  information  he  wanted.  When  a  boy 
intends  to  grow  up  to  be  an  editor  it  pays  him 
to  be  honest  and  pleasant  with  strangers. 

There  is  a  story  in  the  Fourth  Reader  about 
a  little  boy  who  opened  a  gate  for  a  strange 
old  man,  who  afterwards  died  and  left  the  boy 
a  large  estate,  thus  enabling  the  boy  to  live  in 
affluence.  Six  months  ago  I  would  not  have 
been  able  to  write  "  affluence,"  or  even  to  put 
quotation-marks  before  or  behind  it,  but  now 
that  I  have  learned  to  set  type  and  write  per- 


sonal  and  local  items  for  the  weekly  Chronicle, 
I  have  secured  knowledge  of  a  great  many  long 
words  that  will  come  in  useful  to  me  hereafter, 
in  case  I  should  decide  to  become  a  preacher, 
or  maybe  set  up  as  a  doctor.  However,  the 
chances  are  that  I  will  continue  in  the  pro 
fession  of  journalism,  as  I  have  adopted  it. 
Squire  Miller  says  people  are  more  beholden 
to  adopted  children  than  they  are  to  their  own. 
He  says  it  is  because  nobody  blames  you  if  you 
spoil  your  own  children. 

The  Emigger  says  I  ought  to  make  a  great 
editor,  and  he  encourages  me  a  great  deal.  If 
he  knew  that  I  am  going  to  write  the  story  of 
how  he  happened  to  come  here,  and  of  his  ad 
ventures  since  he  came,  I  know  he  would  be 
happy,  because  he  says  so  many  people  make 
the  mistake  of  writing  about  things  they  don't 
know  anything  about.  He  says  each  person 
ought  to  choose  a  certain  subject,  and  be  the 
Hoyle  for  that.  I  asked  him  who  Hoyle  was, 
and  he  said  he  was  a  man  who  wrote  a  lengthy 
book  on  how  to  draw.  But  art  is  not  my 
forte. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  editorial  department  of 
the  Chronicle  office  when  the  Emigger  came  in. 
The  editorial  department  is  the  space  between 
the  case  of  job-type  and  the  pasting-table,  and 
is  where  Mr.  Bashford,  the  editor,  sits  when  he 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

writes  his  pieces.  Mr.  Bashford  is  a  fine  man, 
but  he  says  himself  that  his  career  was  cut 
short  through  his  inability  to  decide  which  was 
past  and  which  was  future.  Before  he  came 
here  he  lived  in  Cincinnati,  and  he  learned  the 
printing  trade  there.  I  cannot  quite  under 
stand  what  he  means  by  not  being  able  to  dis 
tinguish  between  a  past  and  a  future,  and  the 
only  explanation  he  makes  is  that  some  one 
told  him  there  was  a  fine  opening  here  for  a 
young  man,  and  that  while  he  was  looking  for 
the  opening  somebody  pushed  him  in.  He  is 
a  little,  skinny  man,  with  kind  of  grassy-gray 
hair — the  color  of  grass  after  we  haven't  had 
any  rain  all  during  the  dog-days.  He  has  a 
pug-nose  and  chews  tobacco.  Each  of  these 
characteristics  is  constant  with  him,  although 
his  hair  is  slowly  falling  out.  He  says  the 
Chronicle  makes  a  good  living  for  him,  and  he 
could  make  a  better  one  if  he  didn't  have  the 
dyspepsia  or  had  some  children.  He  says  this 
because  he  has  to  trade  out  most  of  the  ad 
vertisements.  This  goes  all  right  with  the 
clothing  store  and  shoemakers,  but  he  says 
the  blacksmith  is  away  ahead  of  him,  and  un 
less  some  one  brings  in  a  horse  on  subscription 
he  can  see  where  he  is  going  to  lose  money  on 
that  advertisement. 

Well,  as  I  started  to  say,  I  was  sitting  in  the 
3 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

editorial  department,  while  Mr.  Bashford  was  up 
at  the  polls  ' '  watching  the  voice  of  the  people  go 
ing  on  the  record,"  when  the  Emigger  came  in. 
He  was  a  tall,  black-haired  man,  with  the  kind 
of  black  eyes  that  look  through  you  and  seem 
to  be  studying  the  way  the  back  of  your  coat 
is  wrinkled.  He  had  a  long,  black  mustache 
that  drooped  just  like  Simon  Legree's  in  the 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  pictures,  and  before  I  knew 
it  I  was  looking  for  a  black-snake  whip  in  his 
hand.  But  he  didn't  talk  like  Simon  Legree 
at  all.  His  voice  was  soft  and  gentle-like,  and 
it  dropped  at  the  end  of  every  sentence,  and 
he  never  pronounced  any  r's.  Some  ways  he 
talked  like  old  Uncle  Abijah  Henderson,  who 
has  done  our  whitewashing  ever  since  I  can 
remember.  But  when  the  Emigger  talked  to 
you  he  didn't  make  you  feel  that  he  was  going 
to  offer  to  do  the  job  for  a  quarter. 

"What's  going  on  here  to-day?"  he  asked 
me,  when  he  stepped  into  the  office.  I  will 
not  attempt  to  leave  out  the  r's  as  he  did,  be 
cause  I  am  not  skilful  enough  in  the  use  of  the 
apostrophe. 

"  It  is  the  town  election,"  I  told  him,  getting 
up  and  offering  him  my  chair. 

"Keep  your  seat,  son,"  he  said.  "What 
might  your  first  name  be,  anyway?" 

"John." 

4 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"John  who?" 

"John  Thompson?" 

"Any  connection  of  the  Thompsons,  of  Vir 
ginia?" 

He  was  leaning  over  the  pasting-table  and 
smiling  at  me  as  friendly  as  if  he  had  known 
me  all  my  life.  I  told  him  I  didn't  know 
whether  we  was  any  kin  to  the  Virginia  Thomp 
sons  or  not,  but  that  we  had  lots  of  relatives 
almost  everywhere. 

"It  is  a  good  name,"  he  said.  "And  so  the 
election  is  going  on,  is  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Has  there  been  any  shooting  yet?" 

"No,  sir.     Why  should  there  be?" 

"Excuse  me.  I  forgot  where  I  was.  You 
see,  Johnny,  down  my  way  no  election  is  al 
lowed  to  progress  until  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  without  at  least  two  shootings  and 
maybe  three  or  four  stabbings  to  enliven  the 
occasion." 

"We  never  have  any  shooting  here,  except 
when  we  shoot  off  the  anvils  after  the  returns 
come  in,"  I  told  him,  and  then  I  laughed,  be 
cause  I  could  see  that  he  was  joking  with  me. 

"What  I  am  looking  for,"  he  said,  "is  an 
opening.  I  want  to  go  into  business." 

I  told  him  about  what  Mr.  Bashford  said 
about  the  opening  he  found  here,  and  he 

5 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

laughed  at  that,  and  said  he  supposed  he  might 
be  able  to  wriggle  out  if  the  opening  didn't 
suit  him.  So  I  tried  to  think  of  anything  that 
might  interest  him,  but  it  seemed  like  every 
thing  was  taken  up.  Then  I  remembered  about 
old  Henry  Gillup  having  died. 

"There's  just  one  vacancy  in  this  town,"  I 
explained,  "and  maybe  that  wouldn't  suit  you. 
Old  Henry  Gillup  is  dead." 

"What  about  him?  What  business  was  he 
in?" 

"He  was  the  ragman.  There's  his  \vagon 
across  the  street." 

The  stranger  frowned  at  me  at  first,  but  he 
saw  that  I  did  not  mean  to  be  impolite,  so  he 
turned  and  looked  across  the  street  where 
Gillup 's  rag-wagon  stood  under  the  shed,  and 
then  he  laughed  to  himself,  and  pulled  his 
slouch  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and  said,  under 
his  breath: 

"Why  not?  Nobody  ever  would  suspect 
me  of  being  a  ragman." 

Then  he  turned  around  again  and  drummed 
with  his  fingers  on  the  table,  and  asked  me  if 
I  thought  he  could  buy  the  rag-wagon  and  a 
team  to  pull  it.  We  talked  it  over  quite  a 
while,  until  Mr.  Bashford  came  in,  and  then 
the  stranger  talked  with  him  about  it,  first  in 
troducing  himself. 

6 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  am  Mr.  Asbury  Dabney  Colquhoun,  late 
of  Red  Gap,  Virginia,  sir,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Bash- 
ford.  Mr.  Bashford  shook  hands  with  him 
and  replied: 

"  I  am  honored  by  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Colquhoun — Colonel,  I  should  say.  I  am  Mr. 
Eli  James  Bashford,  late  of  Cincinnati,  Ohio." 

"Might  you  be  any  connection  of  the  Bash- 
fords,  of  Virginia,  sir?" 

"Very  probably  I  am,"  was  the  answer,  and 
then  they  took  up  the  rag-wagon  matter,  and 
Mr.  Bashford  explained  how  the  wagon  was 
for  sale,  and  how  an  enterprising  man,  by  doing 
some  judicious  advertising,  would  find  this  an 
unrivalled  location  for  that  line  of  trade. 

"  But  couldn't  he  get  along  without  the  ad 
vertising?"  asked  the  Emigger. 

"  He  might  get  along,  but  not  so  well  with 
out  it  as  with  it." 

"You  see,"  said  the  Emigger,  leaning  over 
confidentially,  "just  now  I  am  not  overly 
anxious  to  get  any  too  much  publicity." 

Mr.  Bashford  looked  kind  of  funny  at  this, 
and  the  Emigger  noticed  his  look  and  said: 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that.  I  haven't  done  anything 
to  be  ashamed  of.  You  can  take  my  word  as 
a  gentleman,  sir,  can  you  not?" 

Mr.  Bashford  declared  that  his  word  was  as 
good  as  his  bond,  and  then  the  two  of  them 

7 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

went  over  to  old  Mrs.  Gillup's,  and  before  they 
came  back  the  Emigger  had  bought  the  wagon 
and  the  team  and  got  a  list  of  Mr.  Gillup's 
customers. 

I  ought  to  have  told  a  good  while  ago  how 
we  came  to  call  Mr.  Colquhoun  "The  Emigger." 
But  I  couldn't  explain  it  until  I  told  of  his 
buying  the  rag-wagon,  because  it  all  came  about 
through  that.  Mr.  Bashford  told  me  to  gather 
up  all  the  old  books  and  papers  in  the  office 
and  give  them  to  Mr.  Colquhoun  as  a  sign  of 
good  luck  for  the  start  of  his  business.  Among 
the  lot  was  a  copy  of  an  encyclopedia,  and  be 
fore  I  threw  it  into  the  bunch  I  looked  through 
it.  Mr.  Colquhoun  was  sitting  down  talking 
with  Mr.  Bashford,  and  Mr.  Colquhoun  was 
telling  how  he  happened  to  leave  Virginia.  It 
was  very  exciting.  His  father's  grandfather 
and  Colonel  Tobe  Sanger's  grandfather  traded 
mules  away  long  ago,  and  Colonel  Tobe  Sang 
er's  grandfather's  mule  kicked  Mr.  Colquhoun's 
grandfather,  and  so  Mr.  Colquhoun's  grand 
father  said  that  it  was  a  put-up  job  and  shot 
at  Colonel  Tobe  Sanger's  grandfather.  That 
started  it,  and  from  then  on  a  Colquhoun  and 
a  Sanger  couldn't  meet  without  shooting  at 
each  other,  and  by-and-by  they  got  to  trying 
to  meet  each  other,  and  shooting  each  other, 
until  at  last  there  wasn't  any  men  left  but  Mr. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Colquhoun  and  young  Pinkney  Sanger.  And 
finally,  Mr.  Colquhoun's  mother  just  begged 
and  prayed  with  him,  and  said  she  would  never 
have  another  happy  day  unless  he  went  away 
and  stopped  taking  shots  at  young  Sanger. 

"I  didn't  like  to  go  away,"  he  said  to  Mr. 
Bashford,  "  at  least  not  until  I  got  another  try 
at  Pinkney.  The  last  time  we  peppered  at 
each  other  he  spoiled  a  new  hat  of  mine,  and 
I  nipped  one  of  his  ears,  and  I  was  calculating 
to  make  him  symmetrical  by  nipping  the  other 
ear.  But  mother  took  on  so  that  at  last  I 
gathered  together  what  money  I  could  and 
struck  out,  bringing  up  here,  as  you  see." 

"That  was  the  only  way  to  end  the  feud, 
unless  you  married  a  Sanger  girl,"  said  Mr. 
Bashford. 

"There  wasn't  a  girl  in  their  family.  Noth 
ing  to  do  but  shoot,  and  not  much  fun  about 
that  of  late,"  answered  Mr.  Colquhoun. 

Just  then  I  had  come  across  the  word  emigre, 
which  of  course  I  could  not  pronounce,  and  I 
had  been  reading  how  it  was  the  name  of  the 
folks  that  left  France  one  time  because  of  a 
war,  and  settled  down  in  foreign  countries 
until  the  trouble  was  over  and  they  could  go 
back  to  their  homes. 

"Then  here's  your  definition,"  I  said. 

"Whose?"  asked  Mr.  Bashford. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Mr.  Colquhoun's.  He's  an  emigger."  (That 
was  the  way  I  pronounced  it  then) .  "  Emiggers 
are  people  who  go  away  from  home  to  keep 
out  of  trouble." 

They  both  looked  at  the  book,  and  then 
looked  at  each  other  and  laughed,  and  Mr. 
Bashford  said  the  word  was  pronounced  Amy 
Gray,  but  Mr.  Colquhoun  said,  better  let  it 
stand  the  way  I  pronounced  it,  that  Emigger 
was  a  better  word  than  one  of  those  prescrip 
tion  expressions,  anyhow.  So  after  that  Mr. 
Bashford  called  him  the  Emigger  just  for  fun, 
and  to  tease  me  as  much  as  anything,  and  the 
joke  got  all  over  town,  until  at  last  the  name 
stuck  to  Mr.  Colquhoun. 


II 


THE  Emigger  got  Mr.  Bashford  to  let  me 
off  for  a  while  in  order  to  go  around  with 
him  and  get  him  acquainted  with  the  roads 
and  the  people.  He  didn't  really  seem  to  care 
very  much  whether  he  bought  any  rags  or 
paper  or  not.  We  would  drive  along  for  four 
or  five  miles  sometimes  without  stopping  any 
where,  while  he  would  be  telling  me  stories 
about  the  fun  he  had  in  Virginia.  I  got  to 
wishing  I  could  have  a  feud  with  some  one, 
and  lay  in  wait  for  him  or  watch  to  keep  him 
from  lying  in  wait  for  me.  The  Emigger  said 
it  didn't  make  so  much  difference,  though; 
that  a  boy  was  better  off  without  feuds.  He 
said  no  matter  where  a  boy  lived,  that  was  the 
place  where  he  would  have  the  most  fun  of  his 
life. 

The  first  day  I  went  with  him  I  took  him  up 
to  Miss  Flora  Beavers 's  house.  She  was  my 
Sunday-school  teacher,  and  was  almost  an  old 
maid,  but  not  quite.  I  guess  she  weighs  about 
a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds,  and  she  has 

ii 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

crinkly  hair  and.  a  nice,  round  face,  and  she 
is  plump  and  good  -  natured.  She  lived  with 
her  mother.  Her  father  is  dead.  It  was  his 
funeral  where  they  had  the  band  from  Ken 
sington,  and  the  Grand  Army  marched  with 
their  guns  upside-down,  because  Mr.  Beavers 
had  been  a  captain  in  the  army.  Since  he 
died,  Miss  Beavers  had  kept  herself  and  her 
mother  by  taking  subscriptions  for  papers  and 
magazines,  and  I  knew  she  would  have  a  lot  of 
old  circulars  and  sample  copies  the  Emigger 
could  buy.  When  we  turned  into  the  lane 
from  the  road,  the  Emigger  looked  across  the 
yard  and  said: 

"There's  a  fine  swing  over  there." 

"That  was  a  premium,"  I  said. 

"A  premium?" 

"Yes.  Miss  Beavers  got  it  for  getting  a 
hundred  subscribers  to  the  Family  Hearth 
stone.  She  wants  to  sell  it,  because  she  says 
she  is  too  heavy  to  swing  in  it." 

Mrs.  Beavers  met  us  at  the  door.  She  said 
Flora  was  busy  just  then  writing  out  some  sub 
scription-blanks,  but  that  she  would  be  down 
pretty  soon,  and  we  should  be  seated  and  ex 
cuse  her,  as  she  had  some  work  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Certainly,  ma'am,"  said  the  Emigger.  "  Par 
don  me,  but  are  you  any  connection  of  the 
Beavers,  of  Virginia?" 

ia 


Mrs.  Beavers  didn't  know  but  she  might  be, 
and  the  Emigger  told  a  long  story  about 
Colonel  Beaver  and  Major  Beaver  and  Judge 
Beaver  and  how  they  fought  the  Revolutionary 
War.  Then  Mrs.  Beavers  went  out,  and  we 
sat  in  the  front-room  waiting  for  Flora. 

"  That's  a  pretty  centre-table,"  he  said  to  me. 

I  told  him  it  was  a  premium,  and  that  the 
photograph  album  on  it  was  another.  And 
before  he  got  over  being  surprised  at  that,  I 
went  on  to  show  him  the  panel  of  kittens  over 
the  mantel  and  the  yard  of  puppies  and  the 
imitation  oil-painting  of  Washington  crossing 
the  Delaware  and  the  three-piece  parlor  suit 
and  the  bookcase  and  the  sets  of  Dickens  and 
Shakespeare,  and  told  him  they  were  all 
premiums.  Well,  there  never  was  a  man  so 
surprised. 

"All  premiums?" 

"Yes,  they  are  all  premiums,"  Miss  Beavers 
said,  coming  in  with  a  laugh  and  shaking  her 
finger  at  me.  "  I  suppose  Johnny  has  been 
telling  you  all  about  our  house,  and  how  I 
have  furnished  it  with  prizes  I  got  for  soliciting 
subscriptions." 

The  Emigger  had  got  up  and  made  her  the 
finest  bow  I  ever  saw. 

"Miss  Beavers,"  he  told  her,  "it  certainly 
is  a  great  compliment  to  you  to  have  it  known 

13 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

that  you  are  a  woman  of  such  energy  and  en 
terprise." 

Then  she  laughed  again  and  thanked  him, 
and  told  him  all  about  how  she  had  made  it  a 
business  to  get  subscribers  for  everything  that 
was  printed,  and  before  long  she  took  us  out 
in  the  kitchen,  where  her  mother  was  making 
pies,  and  showed  us  the  cook-stove  and  the 
kitchen  things  that  she  had  earned  by  taking 
subscribers  for  a  cook-book.  The  Emigger 
was  so  interested  in  all  she  said,  that  finally  I 
had  to  tell  her  what  we  had  come  for.  She 
said  she  had  a  great  lot  of  old  sample  papers, 
and  would  be  glad  to  sell  them,  or  give  them 
to  the  Emigger  if  he  would  haul  them  away. 
But  he  bowed  again,  and  said  that  business  was 
business  and  he  w^ould  pay  for  them.  So  she 
showed  us  where  there  was  a  stack  of  them 
out  on  the  back  porch. 

When  we  were  driving  away  she  said,  "Mr. 
Colquhoun,  I  get  a  great  many  of  those  samples, 
and  expect  I  can  keep  you  busy  buying  them." 

"So  much  the  better,  Miss  Beavers,"  he 
said.  "The  more  you  have  of  them,  the 
oftener  I  can  drive  in." 

And  he  cracked  the  whip  and  made  old  man 
Gillup's  horses  trot  down  the  lane  and  out  into 
the  road  faster  than  they  ever  had  gone  since 
they  began  pulling  the  rag-wragon. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

We  went  out  the  pike  as  far  as  the  second 
cross-roads,  then  went  over  and  come  back  to 
town  by  way  of  Porter's  mills,  stopping  at 
Elijah  Porter's  for  dinner.  Elijah  couldn't 
remember  whether  he  was  any  kin  to  the  Vir 
ginia  Porters  or  not,  but  he  had  a  cousin  who 
had  gone  through  Virginia  once  on  a  hunting- 
trip,  and  he  told  us  all  about  that. 

The  Emigger  got  a  good  load  of  stuff  that 
day,  and  hired  me  to  work,  that  night,  helping 
him  pack  it  up  to  ship  off  to  the  junk  dealers. 
He  asked  me  all  about  Miss  Beavers  while  we 
were  stacking  up  her  sample  papers.  Mr. 
Bash  ford  came  over  to  the  barn  while  we  were 
at  work  and  asked  the  Emigger  how  he  was 
getting  along. 

"  Excellently,"  answered  the  Emigger.  "There 
has  been  a  strong  demand  for  coffee-pots  and 
quite  a  rush  on  dish-pans,  and  I  have  collected 
rags  and  papers  of  all  kinds." 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Bashford  said.  "Lots  of  peo 
ple  around  here  only  take  the  Chronicle  to 
save  the  copies  long  enough  to  trade  them  for 
a  flour-sifter." 

It  took  me  a  good  two  weeks  to  pilot  the 
Emigger  over  the  country  around  here.  We 
could  have  gone  over  the  ground  a  good  deal 
sooner,  but  he  would  talk  with  people  as- long 
as  they  would  talk  with  him,  and  sometimes 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

we  put  in  half  a  day  at  one  place.  It  was  the 
same  way  in  town.  There,  though,  the  folks 
he  met  introduced  him  to  others,  and  so  much 
did  not  depend  on  me.  He  made  great  friends 
with  Squire  Miller.  I  think  the  reason  he  took 
such  a  fancy  to  the  squire  was  that  the  squire 
is  always  playing  tunes  on  a  locust  leaf  under 
his  tongue,  except  in  winter.  As  the  locust- 
trees  were  just  in  good  leaf  when  the  Emigger 
came  to  town,  the  squire  was  making  up  for 
lost  time,  and  you  could  always  tell  when  he 
was  coming  down  street  by  the  music  he  made. 
Nobody  can  quite  catch  on  to  how  he  does  it. 
Lots  of  us  boys  have  begged  and  begged  him  to 
show  us,  and  he  has  told  us  how  to  hold  the 
locust  leaf  on  top  of  the  tongue  and  just  sort 
of  whistle  over  it,  but  you  can't  make  it  work. 
When  I  do  it,  it  only  squeaks  once  or  twice 
and  then  the  leaf  splits,  but  Squire  Miller  can 
put  a  leaf  in  his  mouth  and  hold  his  lips  kind 
of  square  set,  and  go  around  playing  "ta,  ta, 
ta-teety  te  ta"  in  a  regular  tune. 

The  Emigger  tried  it  once  or  twice,  but 
stopped  because  he  said  he  couldn't  play 
music  and  chew  tobacco  too. 


Ill 


A?TER  I  had  gone  to  work  again  in  the 
Chronicle  office  another  stranger  came  to 
town.  "Arthur  Keene  Branthorpe"  was  his 
name  printed  out  in  full  on  a  little  card  that  he 
handed  to  Mr.  Bashford,  and  below  his  name  it 
said,  "  Stage-Director  and  Impresario. ' '  He  was 
in  the  business  of  getting  up  theatrical  produc 
tions  of  his  own  play,  "The  Last  Shot,"  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Sons  of  Veterans,  by  home  talent. 
That  was  what  he  came  here  for,  and  Mr. 
Bashford  told  him  if  he  couldn't  go  right  down 
Main  Street  any  day  and  pick  out  twenty  of 
the  best  character-actors  in  the  world  without 
any  make-up  on  them,  he  hadn't  any  right  to 
be  in  the  business.  (Sometimes  Mr.  Bashford 
talks  as  if  he  didn't  altogether  like  Plainville, 
even  if  he  does  run  the  Plainville  Chronicle.) 
Mr.  Branthorpe  said  that  what  he  wanted  was 
to  get  the  young  folks  interested  in  the  work 
and  develop  any  latent  talent  there  was. 

He  got  Mr.  Bashford  to  put  in  a  write-up  of 
him  and  his  scheme,  and  then  saw  some  of  the 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Grand  Army  men  and  Sons  of  Veterans,  and 
before  the  week  was  over  "The  Last  Shot" 
was  booming. 

Mr.  Branthorpe  left  a  copy  of  the  printed 
play  with  Mr.  Bashford.  It  was  about  a  man 
who  went  to  the  war,  after  telling  his  girl  good 
bye.  That  was  in  the  first  act.  The  Plain- 
ville  Silver  Cornet  Band  was  to  play  "The  Girl 
I  Left  Behind  Me"  real  soft  while  the  man  was 
saying  good-bye  to  the  girl,  and  she  was  to  cry, 
and  at  last  he  would  kiss  her  and  put  his  gun 
on  his  shoulder  and  walk  away  real  slow. 
Then  the  next  act  showed  a  hospital,  and  the 
man  had  been  wounded.  The  girl  \vas  there 
to  nurse  him,  and  there  was  another  fellow, 
who  really  was  a  spy,  but  he  was  in  love  with 
the  girl,  too,  and  he  told  her  that  the  man  had 
been  shot  in  the  back  while  running  away  from 
the  battle.  Of  course  that  made  her  mad  at 
him,  and  it  looked  as  if  she  was  going  to  marry 
the  other  man.  But  in  the  last  act  the  spy 
fellow  was  with  the  enemy,  and  it  was  the  last 
battle  of  the  war,  and  the  man  had  got  well 
and  he  fired  the  last  shot  of  the  war,  and  \vho 
did  he  kill  but  the  spy.  Then  the  girl  wras  to 
come  running  to  him  right  through  the  battle 
smoke,  and  all  was  well.  Of  course  there  were 
other  people  in  the  play.  There  was  a  funny 
Irishman  who  said  "be  jabers,"  and  things 

18 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

like  that,  and  put  on  the  general's  uniform  and 
was  caught  stealing  chickens;  and  there  was  a 
darky  servant  who  sang  and  danced.  Then 
there  were  other  men  and  women  who  all  got 
married  in  the  last  act.  It  seemed  funny  to 
have  all  these  women  rush  in  on  the  battle 
field,  but,  Mr.  Bashford  said,  folks  could  do 
almost  anything  in  a  play.  Mr.  Branthorpe 
was  to  be  the  funny  Irishman.  The  funny 
Irishman  spoke  the  first  words  in  the  play,  and 
was  in  it  all  the  time,  and  he  would  be  the  last 
man  to  speak  in  the  show,  too.  Branthorpe 
had  bunchy,  curly  hair  and  wore  fine  clothes. 
Mr.  Bashford  made  him  pay  in  advance  for  the 
local  notice. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  argument  about 
who  would  play  the  part  of  the  girl  that  told 
the  man  good-bye  in  the  first  act,  but  finally 
it  was  decided  that  Annie  Davis  should  have 
the  part.  It  seemed  like  it  was  made  just  for 
her.  She  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  town.  She 
had  nice  pink  cheeks  and  blue  eyes  and  hair 
that  was  almost  yellow.  And  she  had  studied 
elocution.  Fred  Parker  was  to  play  the  hero. 
George  Horwick  didn't  like  this,  because  he 
had  been  going  with  Annie  for  a  good  while, 
but  Branthorpe  said  that  as  manager  of  the 
show  he  had  the  right  to  say  who  should  take 
parts,  and  that  his  great  experience  fitted  him 

19 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

to  make  proper  selections.  The  only  thing  he 
would  let  George  do  was  play  the  part  of  a 
sentinel  over  the  hospital.  Dave  Miller,  the 
squire's  son,  was  to  play  the  darky  part,  be 
cause  he  can  sing  real  well,  and  Branthorpe 
said  he  would  teach  him  how  to  dance  a  jig. 
Then  the  other  parts  were  given  out.  Flora 
Beavers  was  to  play  the  mother  of  the  heroine, 
and  some  other  women  and  girls  were  given 
places.  The  Sons  of  Veterans  were  formed 
into  a  company  of  soldiers  to  represent  the 
army.  I  was  to  play  the  drummer-boy.  They 
wanted  the  Emigger  to  play  some  part.  Cap 
tain  McDougal  said  it  would  be  a  noble  act  to 
invite  him  to  appear  in  the  drama,  as  it  would 
show  that  hands  were  clasped  across  the 
bloody  chasm.  But  the  Emigger  begged  off, 
because  he  wouldn't  have  time  to  study  up. 
Just  the  same  he  asked  Miss  Beavers  if  he 
might  escort  her  to  and  from  the  rehearsals, 
so  he  was  always  there  while  we  were  prac 
tising.  The  show  was  to  be  given  the  middle 
of  June,  after  school  commencement  was  over 
and  before  wheat  harvest  began. 

At  first  we  only  rehearsed  every  Wednesday 
night.  I  didn't  have  much  rehearsing  to  do, 
so  I  could  sit  around  and  watch  the  others. 
We  used  the  opera-house  to  rehearse  in.  We 
just  had  the  stage  lighted  and  one  or  two  lights 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

out  in  the  hall.  Annie  Davis  learned,  her  part 
before  anybody  else,  and  Branthorpe  bragged 
a  lot  about  her.  He  said  she  showed  true 
dramatic  talent,  and  would  make  a  great 
emotional  actress  if  she  would  go  on  the  real 
stage. 

"When  you  are  at  the  head  of  your  own 
company,  Miss  Davis,"  he  said  to  her,  "  I  hope 
you  will  not  forget  that  it  was  Arthur  Keene 
Branthorpe  who  first  predicted  your  success." 

I  could  see  that  George  Horwick  didn't  like 
that,  either.  It  wasn't  so  much  what  Bran 
thorpe  said  as  it  was  the  way  he  said  it.  But 
Annie  took  it  for  the  greatest  compliment  in 
the  world,  and  blushed,  and  almost  forgot 
what  she  had  to  say  at  the  rehearsal  the  rest 
of  the  evening.  When  we  were  leaving,  George 
Horwick  walked  up  beside  her  to  take  her 
home,  and  Branthorpe  walked  up,  too,  and 
said,  that  as  he  wras  going  the  same  way — he 
was  boarding  at  Lancaster's  —  he  would  be 
pleased  if  they  would  permit  him  to  accompany 
them.  She  told  him  certainly.  George  looked 
madder  than  ever. 

Branthorpe  walked  home  every  night  with 
Annie  after  that,  and  pretty  soon  George  Hor 
wick  got  so  mad  about  it  that  he  quit  going 
home  with  her.  She  didn't  seem  to  care.  All 
the  time  at  rehearsal,  when  she  wasn't  acting, 

21 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

she  would  be  talking  with  Branthorpe,  and  I 
could  hear  him  telling  her  about  New  York 
and  Chicago  and  tours  and  audiences,  and  she 
would  blush  and  say  he  was  flattering  her. 
But  he  would  press  his  hand  on  his  heart  and 
say  that  he  was  speaking  the  solemn  truth. 
The  Emigger  got  to  noticing  them,  too.  Some 
way,  he  didn't  like  Branthorpe.  He  w^ould  sit 
on  a  chair  back  in  one  corner  of  the  stage  and 
keep  his  eyes  on  the  actor  all  the  time,  chew 
ing  his  mustache.  Anyway,  people  wrere  talk 
ing  about  the  way  the  actor  was  running  after 
her.  He  would  be  at  her  home  during  the 
daytime,  often,  to  rehearse.  But  the  funny 
Irishman  in  the  play  didn't  have  any  acting 
to  do  with  the  heroine. 

"The  Last  Shot"  never  was  fired  in  Plain- 
ville.  The  Emigger  spoiled  the  show.  It 
happened  just  a  week  before  the  play  was  to 
be  given.  We  had  all  met  for  a  rehearsal. 
Emma  Wallace,  who  played  the  part  of  the 
sister  of  the  heroine,  was  going  to  sing  a  song 
in  the  show,  and  she  was  practising  it,  with 
Lizzie  Collins  playing  the  piece  on  the  piano 
that  had  been  borrowed.  I  was  back  on  one 
side  of  the  stage,  behind  a  scene,  and  I  heard 
some  one  talking  on  the  other  side  of  it.  It 
was  Branthorpe  and  Annie  Davis.  He  said 
something  about  a  great  career  that  was  open 

22 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

for  her  if  she  would  only  leave  this  dead  little 
place  and  take  advantage  of  the  opportunities 
that  were  open  to  one  of  her  beauty  and  in 
tellect.  I  couldn't  hear  what  she  said,  she 
answered  him  so  low. 

"But  you  can  slip  away  the  night  after  the 
show  is  played,"  he  said. 

I  could  see  his  shadow  on  the  scenery.  He 
was  real  close  to  her  and  was  talking  fast. 

"You  can  slip  away,"  he  said  again. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Branthorpe,  do  you  mean  I  should 
run  away  from  home?" 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "Join  me  in  Pitts- 
burg  and  we  will  be  married,  and  then  I  will 
star  you  in  a  great  play." 

She  hung  her  head,  or  her  shadow  did,  and 
whispered  something.  I  didn't  wait  to  hear 
any  more.  I  ran  across  on  my  tiptoes  to 
where  the  Emigger  was  and  told  him  what  I 
had  heard.  I  never  saw  a  man  jump  up  as 
quick  as  he  did.  He  sent  his  chair  flying  be 
hind  him  and  rushed  across  the  stage,  and. 
Emma  Wallace  choked  right  off  in  the  middle 
of  her  song,  and  everybody  else  ran  up  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  The  Emigger  ran  back 
of  the  scenery,  and  there  was  a  scuffle  and  some 
swear  words,  and  he  came  out  holding  Bran 
thorpe  by  the  neck  and  shaking  him  like  a  rat. 

"You  get  out  of  this  town  right  away!"  he 
23 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

said.  Then  he  let  go  of  Branthorpe,  and  every 
one  rushed  up  to  them  asking  what  was  wrong. 

"This  man  is  trying  to  get  Annie  Davis  to 
run  away  with  him." 

"You're  a  liar!"  yelled  Branthorpe. 

The  Emigger  reached  to  his  hip -pocket. 
Then  a  queer  look  came  over  his  face,  and  he 
took  his  hand  away  from  the  pocket  and  walked 
up  to  the  actor  and  shook  him  back  and  forth 
until  his  head  wabbled  like  a  rag. 

"  I  ought  to  kill  you  for  that,"  he  said ;  "  and 
maybe  I'll  be  sorry  some  day  that  I  didn't. 
But  I'll  give  you  a  chance  for  your  life.  You 
get  out  of  this  town  to-night." 

Mr.  Davis  climbed  up  on  the  stage  and  went 
to  Annie  and  told  her  to  come  on  home  with 
him.  She  was  crying.  Her  father  said  it  was 
wrhat  might  have  been  expected  of  such  wicked 
performances.  The  Emigger  shook  Branthorpe 
a  little  more  and  then  let  him  go,  and  he  hur 
ried  out.  Everybody  stayed  to  talk  it  over, 
and  by  the  time  the  folks  got  started  home  some 
boys  came  in  and  said  they  had  seen  Bran 
thorpe  getting  on  the  late  train. 


IV 


THERE  was  considerable  talk  about  the 
breaking  up  of  the  show,  and  some  peo 
ple  criticised  the  Emigger,  while  others  said  he 
did  just  right.  He  only  said  he  was  sorry  it 
happened,  and  they  could  take  that  any  way 
they  liked.  Nobody  knew  what  had  become 
of  Branthorpe.  The  Emigger  got  a  letter  from 
him  saying  he  would  get  even,  but  didn't  pay 
any  attention  to  it.  He  just  went  ahead  with 
his  work  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

One  day  Oscar  Ferguson,  who  intends  to  be  a 
great  detective  some  time,  came  into  the  office. 
Oscar  has  a  nickel-plated  star  he  got  with  a 
certificate  that  he  is  a  real  detective  from  some 
company  in  New  York,  and  he  has  a  big  re 
volver  and  a  pair  of  handcuffs  at  his  home. 
Marshal  Smith  says  he  will  arrest  Oscar  if  he 
carries  the  pistol  or  the  handcuffs,  but  he  can 
wear  the  star  as  long  as  he  wants  to.  Oscar 
came  in  like  he  was  walking  on  eggs  and  begun 
whispering  to  me  before  he  had  got  around 
back  of  the  past  ing-table.  I  told  him  right 

3  25 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

away  that  I  didn't  know  any  more  about  Mr. 
Colquhoun  than  anybody  else  did,  and  that 
if  he  was  looking  for  clews  he  had  come  to  the 
wrong  place.  So  he  looked  kind  of  mad  at 
me  and  turned  around  and  went  out,  and 
when  I  was  going  home  I  saw  him  sitting  in 
the  barber -shop  looking  over  the  pictures  in 
the  Police  Gazette. 

There  got  to  be  so  much  of  this  questioning 
of  me  that  I  told  the  Emigger  all  about  it,  and 
it  seemed  to  tickle  him  a  lot.  He  said  for  me 
never  to  mind  it,  but  just  to  tell  them  all  I 
knew,  and  if  there  was  anything  I  wanted  to 
know  to  come  and  ask  him;  that  there  wasn't 
anything  more  than  he  had  told  me  in  the  first 
place.  He  promised  to  take  me  'coon  hunting 
in  the  fall,  too,  and  I  concluded  that  he  was 
the  right  kind  of  a  man  for  a  boy  to  be  friends 
with.  Ma  and  pa  both  liked  him,  for  he  had 
begun  going  to  our  church,  and  he  sat  in  our 
pew.  Mr.  Davis  has  the  pew  in  front  of  us, 
and  the  Beavers's  pew  is  right  across  the  aisle. 

But  the  Emigger  wasn't  the  only  person  in 
town  that  people  were  interested  in.  There 
was  a  lot  of  talk  about  Annie  Davis.  She  and 
George  Horwick  had  had  a  falling  out  about 
that  rehearsal  business  and  were  not  speaking 
any  more.  Annie  went  to  the  post-office  every 
time  the  mail  came  in,  and  once  or  twice  she 

26 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

got  letters  from  some  one  in  Pittsburg  and 
New  York.  Ida  Kirkham,  who  clerks  in  the 
post-office,  didn't  know  who  the  letters  were 
from,  but  she  noticed  the  post-marks  on  them. 
The  sewing-circle  met  at  our  house  one  week 
to  make  clothes  for  the  heathen,  and  they  got 
so  excited  talking  about  the  letters  that  Annie 
was  getting  that  Ida  Kirkham  cut  her  hand 
with  the  scissors,  and  they  tore  a  strip  out  of 
a  sleeve  that  had  been  cut  out  for  a  heathen's 
shirt,  to  tie  up  her  hand  with.  I  told  Mr. 
Bashford  about  it,  and  he  said  they  ought  to 
go  right  ahead  and  finish  up  the  shirt  and  see 
if  they  couldn't  find  a  one-armed  heathen,  or 
else  cut  an  arm  off  of  one  right  here  at  home 
and  give  the  shirt  to  him  or  her  as  the  case 
might  be.  Mr.  Bashford  got  real  excited  about 
it.  The  Emigger  wras  in  the  office  at  the  time, 
and  both  of  them  talked  pretty  cross  about 
the  matter,  until  finally  the  Emigger  said  that 
once  he  knew  a  woman  that  lost  her  eye 
sight  reading  postal  -  cards  in  the  post  -  office 
where  she  worked,  and  then  they  both  got  to 
laughing. 

Just  then  old  Ike  Peters  came  in.  Ike 
Peters  is  what  Mr.  Bashford  calls  "the  before- 
taking  exhibit"  of  Plainville.  He  says  this 
because  Ike  is  always  reading  medicine  ad 
vertisements  and  almanacs,  and  then  saying 

27 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

that  he  has  had  the  very  symptoms  the  adver 
tisements  tell  about.  If  a  travelling  patent- 
medicine  man  comes  to  town  and  sells  his 
remedy  from  a  buggy  on  the  square  at  night, 
Ike  is  right  in  the  front  rank  of  the  crowd,  and 
always  buys  the  first  bottle,  no  matter  what 
the  medicine  is  to  cure.  If  he  didn't  have 
false  teeth  he  would  let  the  travelling  dentists 
pull  them  for  nothing  to  exhibit  their  painless 
system.  Mr.  Bashford  always  saves  the  proofs 
of  new  medicine  advertisements  and  gives 
them  to  Ike  when  he  passes  the  office  on  his 
way  home.  Ike  came  in,  as  I  said,  just  while 
we  were  talking  about  what  Ida  Kirkham  had 
been  saying.  He  was  all  excited. 

"What's  the  matter,  Ike?"  Mr.  Bashford 
asked  him.  "Got  a  new  symptom  now,  or 
have  you  heard  of  some  medicine  you  haven't 
taken?" 

"Worse  than  that,  Bashford,"  Ike  said. 

"Let  a  sample  bottle  fall  and  break  before 
you  took  a  dose  out  of  it?" 

"No.  'Tain't  any  joking  matter.  Haven't 
you  heard  the  news?" 

"There  won't  be  any  news  until  the  Chron 
icle  comes  out." 

"Yes  there  will.  Annie  Davis  has  run 
away." 

"What?     Annie  Davis!" 
28 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

The  Emigger  jumped  up  at  that  and  asked 
Peters  how  he  knew  it.  Ike  said  that  Mr. 
Davis  had  been  to  Marshal  Smith's  office  to 
tell  him  that  Annie  was  gone  and  that  they 
didn't  know  what  had  become  of  her.  They 
had  gone  up-stairs  to  call  her  to  breakfast  and 
found  her  room  empty  and  a  note  pinned  to 
her  pillow  saying  good-bye  to  her  folks,  and 
telling  them  that  she  was  sorry  to  leave  them, 
but  that  she  could  not  sacrifice  her  art  al 
though  it  broke  her  heart  to  sever  home  ties. 
The  note  said  it  would  do  them  no  good  to 
try  to  find  her  as  she  would  change  her  name, 
but  that  some  day  she  would  return  and  then 
they  would  see  how  they  had  misjudged  her. 
The  note  was  still  damp  with  tears,  Ike  said; 
and  Dr.  Henderson  had  had  to  be  called  in  be 
cause  Mrs.  Davis  was  in  hysterics.  Well,  there 
was  more  excitement  in  town  that  day  than 
there  was  the  time  some  of  the  boys  got  old 
Uncle  Abijah  Henderson  to  drink  a  Sedlitz- 
powder  in  separate  glasses  on  Sunday  morn 
ing,  and  he  ran  into  the  Methodist  church 
fizzing  at  the  mouth  like  a  soda-fountain  and 
folks  thought  he  had  been  bitten  by  a  mad  dog. 
Marshal  Smith  said  the  note  Annie  left  was 
the  only  clew,  and  that  the  brakeman  on  the 
local  said  that  he  had  noticed  a  girl  answering 
her  description  get  on  the  train  from  the  side 

29 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

opposite  the  station  platform.  They  tele 
graphed  a  description  of  her  everywhere,  but 
it  didn't  do  any  good.  The  Emigger  said  if 
they  would  find  Branthorpe  he  would  bet  they 
would  find  her,  and  the  detectives  in  Cincin 
nati  did  try  to  look  him  up,  but  when  they  lo 
cated  him  he  swore  he  didn't  know  anything 
about  the  matter. 

Oscar  Ferguson  came  into  the  Chronicle 
office  the  last  of  that  week  and  whispered  to 
me  that  he  was  on  the  trail.  I  asked  him 
what  trail. 

"Annie  Davis,"  he  said,  with  his  finger  held 
up  as  if  to  warn  me  to  keep  quiet. 

I  asked  him  what  he  meant,  and  he  said: 

"I've  gained  access  to  the  Davis  home" 
Oscar  talked  just  like  the  detectives  do  in  sto 
ries — "and  I  got  a  copy  of  the  note  Annie  left 
for  her  folks.  Johnny,  I  believe  there  must  be 
a  hidden  cipher  in  that  note  that  will  divulge 
the  secret  of  her  whereabouts." 

"A  cipher?"  I  asked  him. 

"Yes.  That's  the  way  people  do  when  they 
want  to  let  others  find  out  after  a  long  time 
where  they  have  been  or  what  they  have  done. 
It's  something  like  a  puzzle -picture,  only  in 
stead  of  looking  for  a  dog  in  the  tree,  or  a 
chicken  in  the  man's  clothes,  you  must  find 
out  what  letter  to  start  with,  then  how  many 

30 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

letters  to  skip,  and  then  where  to  go  back  to, 
and  then  go  forward  again  so  many  letters, 
and  so  on  until  you  have  worked  it  all  out, 
then  you  take  the  letters  you  have  sifted  out 
and  they  spell  the  thing  you  are  looking  for." 

"  I  don't  see  any  use  of  all  that,"  I  told  him. 

"  But  that's  the  way  Bacon  did  when  he  wrote 
Shakespeare's  plays,  and  lots  and  lots  of  those 
kings  and  queens  in  those  times  used  to  write 
letters  in  cipher.  Why,  they  could  write  to 
some  one  and  say  they  took  their  pen  in  hand 
to  let  you  know  they  were  in  good  health,  and 
hoped  you  were  enjoying  the  same,  and  that 
the  prince  was  getting  over  the  measles,  and 
the  princess  was  engaged  to  the  king  of  some 
other  country,  and  Sir  Knight  Somebody  had 
ridden  to  London,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  if  you  knew  how  to  work  it  you  wrould 
find  out  that  what  they  really  wrote  was  that 
war  was  going  to  be  declared  a  wreek  from 
Tuesday  morning,  and  the  other  fellow  had 
better  fill  up  his  moat  and  get  his  portcullises 
oiled,  or  that  the  one  who  got  the  letter  was 
to  beware  of  an  assassin." 

"  But  Annie  Davis  didn't  have  anybody  to 
declare  war  on,"  I  said,  and  went  on  distrib 
uting  type. 

"  I  know,  but  she  had  a  message  to  leave. 
Mark  my  words,  there  is  a  mystery  in  this  that 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

nothing  but  me  and  time  can  unravel,"  Oscar 
said. 

After  that  Oscar  was  the  busiest  boy  in  town. 
He  would  go  around  as  cautiously  as  a  cat, 
and  he  used  to  come  into  the  office  and  scribble 
all  over  the  copy -paper,  writing  down  the 
alphabet  and  putting  figures  under  the  letters 
and  making  squares  and  diagrams  with  letters 
in  them,  trying  to  find  the  cipher.  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  sniffed  when  I  told  him  about  Oscar's 
theory,  and  said  if  Oscar  could  only  find  the 
cipher  in  his  head,  he'd  be  doing  himself  a 
favor. 

I  felt  awful  sorry  for  the  Davises,  though. 
You  know  how  folks  do  when  some  one  has 
been  arrested,  or  something  like  that,  and  some 
of  their  relations  happen  around.  They  stop 
talking  all  at  once,  and  then  the  relations  know 
they  have  been  talking  about  the  one  that  is 
in  trouble.  That  was  the  way  folks  acted 
about  Annie.  When  any  of  the  Davises  came 
about  they  would  break  off  in  the  middle  of 
a  sentence  and  look  solemn  and  stiff,  trying 
to  seem  unconcerned,  and  then  say  something 
about  its  being  a  pretty  day,  but  a  little  more 
rain  would  be  good  for  the  wheat.  And  all  the 
wheat  had  been  harvested  two  weeks  before. 


IT  added  to  the  excitement  into  which  Plam- 
ville  had  been  plunged  when  one  of  the 
Emigger's  horses  was  stolen.  The  Emigger 
came  into  the  office  that  morning  and  said: 

"Bashford,  some  miscreant  has  made  away 
with  my  trotting  stock." 

"How?"  asked  Mr.  Bashford,  who  was  look 
ing  over  the  Cincinnati  papers. 

"Somebody  has  stolen  that  black  horse." 

"Not  old  Jeff?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you'd  better  look  out  or  he'll  come 
back  and  sue  you  for  damages  for  getting  him 
to  steal  under  false  pretences." 

The  Emigger  sat  down  and  laughed  with  Mr. 
Bashford.  I  never  could  understand  how  the 
Emigger  could  take  things  so  easy.  Nothing 
ever  troubled  him.  He  was  always  the  same, 
his  long,  black  coat  swinging  just  as  easy,  and 
his  black  slouch  hat  set  kind  of  sideways  on  his 
head,  as  if  he  hadn't  a  care  in  the  world.  He 
went  ahead  and  told  Mr.  Bashford  how  he  had 

33 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

gone  to  the  barn  to  get  ready  to  start  out  on 
a  trip  with  his  wagon  and  team,  and  found  the 
black  horse  missing.  He  said  he  had  gone  up 
to  tell  Mrs.  Gillup  about  it,  and  that  she  said 
she  declared  to  goodness  such  a  thing  had 
never  happened  before  to  that  horse,  and  she 
hoped  he  wouldn't  lay  it  to  her  account  in  any 
way.  And  then  he  and  Mr.  Bashford  tilted 
back  their  chairs  and  laughed  until  they  hadn't 
any  breath  left. 

"You'll  have  to  get  an  automobile  now, 
Colquhoun,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"No.  I'm  about  tired  of  being  a  ragman. 
I've  been  thinking  I'd  like  to  be  an  editor." 

Mr.  Bashford  said  some  Latin  that  is  in  the 
back  of  the  dictionary. 

' ' '  Facilis  descensus  Averni, '  "  he  said.  ' '  First 
a  ragman,  then  an  editor.  Colquhoun,  take 
warning  before  it  is  too  late.  You  have  your 
pure  young  life  before  you.  Don't  begin  ac 
quiring  a  past  by  wholesale." 

"But  I've  always  had  a  leaning  towards 
journalism,  Bashford." 

"Yes.  You're  one  of  the  people  who  think 
being  a  journalist  is  sitting  in  a  sway-backed 
chair  chewing  fine  -  cut,  and  writing  cards  of 
thanks  to  folks  who  have  laid  a  fine  pumpkin 
on  ye  editorial  desk.  I'll  bet  there  are  more 
people  than  you  could  shake  a  stick  at  trying 

34 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

to  chew  up  the  visible  supply  of  fine-cut  and 
mould  public  opinion." 

"Let's  quit  joking,  Bashford,  and  get  down 
to — hello,  here  comes  the  detective!"  the  Emig- 
ger  said. 

Oscar  Ferguson  came  in,  out  of  breath  and 
all  worked  up. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Pinkerton?"  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  said. 

"That  isn't  Pinkerton,  it's  Sherlock  Holmes," 
the  Emigger  laughed. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  Mr.  Bashford  put  in.  "It's 
Old  Nick  Carter,  or  Never-say-die.  What's 
the  matter,  Oscar  ?  Got  a  clew  in  your  system 
that  you  can't  cough  up?" 

"Now,  Mr.  Bashford,"  Oscar  began,  "this 
isn't  any  time  for  joking." 

"Huh!  There's  never  been  a  real  time  for 
merry  badinage  since  I  became  the  glorious 
harbinger  of  intelligence  in  this  community," 
Mr.  Bashford  replied.  "  But  what's  interfering 
with  your  digestion,  Oscar?" 

"Mr.  Colquhoun's  horse." 

"His  horse?  Look  here,  Oscar  Ferguson, 
if  you've  gone  into  that  barn  and  eaten  that 
horse,  hide,  hair,  and  hoofs,  there'll  be  trouble 
for  you.  No  wonder — 

The  Emigger  chuckled  at  this,  and  then 
nudged  Mr.  Bashford  in  the  side  and  said  for 

35 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

him  to  quit  teasing  Oscar,   and  let  him  tell 
what  he  wanted  to. 

"What  about  my  horse,  Oscar?"  he  asked. 

"It's  been  stolen,"  Oscar  said,  leaning  against 
the  showcase  that  holds  the  job  stock. 

"Spoken  like  Gaboriau!"  Mr.  Bashford  cried. 
"Oscar,  you've  got  hold  of  the  thread,  and  if 
you  don't  unravel  the  mystery  it  won't  be 
your  fault." 

"I  mean,  you  know  it's  been  stolen,"  Oscar 
said,  squirming  around.  "And  I  just  wanted 
to  ask  Mr.  Colquhoun  a  few  questions  about 
it,  and  see  if  I  couldn't  find  it  for  him." 

"Go  ahead  with  your  questions,  Oscar,"  the 
Emigger  said.  "  If  I  can  throw  any  light  upon 
it,  I  am  at  your  service." 

Oscar  got  a  sheet  of  paper,  took  out  his  pencil, 
wet  the  end  of  it  with  his  tongue,  and  asked: 

"What  time  did  you  last  see  the  de — the 
horse?" 

"About  seven  o'clock  last  night." 

"What  were  the  circumstances  attending 
that  occasion?" 

"  He  sang  a  lullaby  to  it  and  tucked  it  in  its 
little  bed,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"Quit  devilling  the  boy,  Bashford,"  the 
Emigger  said.  "The  circumstances  attending 
the  occasion,  Oscar,  were  that  I  bedded  the 
horse  down  and  left  the  barn." 

36 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  Did  you  notice  anything  peculiar  in  its 
actions?" 

"No.  So  far  as  I  could  see,  it  was  not 
plotting  to  be  stolen." 

"What  kind  of  bedding  did  you  put  in  the 
stall?" 

"Straw — wheat  straw." 

Oscar  looked  wise  and  pulled  a  handful  of 
straw  from  his  pocket. 

"Could  you  identify  this  straw?"  he  asked. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  be  certain  about  it,  but 
it  looks  like  the  same  straw.  Of  course,  one 
wheat  straw  looks  much  like  another,  and  I 
had  neglected  to  put  my  initials  on  the  straw 
I  was  using;  but  this  looks  like  the  same  kind, 
anyhow." 

Oscar  put  the  straw  back  in  his  pocket  and 
made  another  note  on  the  paper. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  straw,  Oscar?" 
Mr.  Bashford  asked. 

"We  cannot  divulge  matters  to  the  press  at 
this  stage  of  the  investigation,"  Oscar  replied, 
jotting  down  something  more  on  the  paper 
and  looking  very  mysterious. 

"How  old  was  the  horse?"  he  asked  the 
Emigger. 

"That  I  cannot  tell.  I  should  judge,  in  an 
off-hand  estimate,  that  the  animal  was  not  less 
than  twenty  years  of  age." 

37 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Oscar  put  that  down. 

"  Is  there  any  particular  person  you  might 
suspect  of  this  crime?" 

"Well,  none  that  I  think  of  at  present." 

"  Had  any  one  made  any  threats  to  steal  the 
horse?" 

"No." 

"Mr.  Colquhoun,  do  you  recognize  this  foot 
print?" 

"What  one?" 

Oscar  reached  under  his  coat  and  brought 
out  a  big  chunk  of  plaster  of  Paris.  It  was 
something  the  shape  of  the  sole  of  a  shoe,  and 
had  mud  and  straw  fastened  in  it.  The  Emig- 
ger  took  it  in  his  hands  and  turned  it  over 
and  over,  looking  first  at  it  and  then  at  Oscar. 

"Speak  up,"  Mr.  Bashford  said;  "if  you 
know  that  footprint,  it  is  your  duty  to  say  so 
and  end  the  suspense." 

"  I  don't  know  it,"  the  Emigger  said.  "  Where 
in  the  world  did  you  get  such  a  thing  as  this, 
Oscar?" 

"  In  your  barn-yard,  right  by  the  door  where 
your  horse  was  led  out.  I  poured  plaster  of 
Paris  in  it  and  took  a  mould.  That  is  a  valu 
able  clew." 

The  Emigger  handed  the  footprint  back  to 
him,  and  Oscar  made  some  more  notes.  Then 
he  asked: 

38 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  person  in  this  vi 
cinity  who  would  have  a  desire  for  that 
horse  ? ' ' 

"No;  no  one  except  myself." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Colquhoun.  I  will  work 
this  case  in  connection  with  others  that  are 
occupying  my  time,  and  will  report  to  you 
from  time  to  time." 

"  Can  you  hold  out  any  hope  to  him,  Oscar?" 
Mr.  Bashford  asked. 

"  I  cannot  make  promises,  but  we  may  ex 
pect  results." 

"Then  the  straw,  the  foot-print,  and  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Colquhoun  suspects  no  one,  are 
to  your  keen  mind  the  fingers  of  suspicion?" 

"Mr.  Bashford,  you  will  readily  understand 
that  it  would  be  fatal  to  the  success  of  my 
efforts  if  I  were  to  discuss  my  plans  through 
the  medium  of  the  press." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Old  Sleuth,"  Mr.  Bashford 
laughed. 

"Now,  don't  you  let  him  worry  you,  son," 
the  Emigger  said,  putting  his  hand  on  Oscar's 
shoulder.  "  No  matter  what  I  might  think 
about  the  way  you  are  going  about  this,  let 
me  say  to  you  that  I  appreciate  greatly  the 
interest  you  are  taking  in  my  loss,  and  that 
you  have  my  hearty  thanks  for  your  sympathy 
and  earnestness.  Ambition,"  he  turned  to 

39 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Mr.  Bashford  and  said,  "is  a  flower  that  is 
often  withered  in  the  bud  by  the  cold  breath 
of  ridicule.  Give  the  boys  a  chance.  No  mat 
ter  how  much  fun  we  think  we  are  having  out 
of  them,  it  is  a  moral  certainty  that  they  have 
more  fun  and  get  more  good  out  of  what  we 
laugh  at.  Sail  in,  son,  and  run  this  horse  to 
earth.  They've  got  no  right  to  poke  fun  at 
you  for  being  on  the  side  of  law  and  order." 

Mr.  Bashford  chuckled  again  as  Oscar  gath 
ered  up  his  notes  and  went  out.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  Emigger  and  said: 

"Old  Virginny  never  die!  I  never  saw  a 
Virginian  yet  who  couldn't  yank  a  moral  pre 
cept  out  of  any  situation  in  life." 

"And  a  blamed  good  moral  precept,  too," 
the  Emigger  replied,  laughing.  "Now,  let's 
talk  about  me  getting  into  the  newspaper  busi 
ness." 

"Are  you  serious  about  that?" 

"Certainly,  sir.  I'm  going  to  move  in  so 
ciety  here,  and  people  would  rather  have  me 
among  them  socially  as  an  editor  than  as  a 
ragman." 

"Maybe  so,  but  first  time  you  forget  to  say 
that  the  bride  is  one  of  Plainville's  fairest 
daughters,  you'll  find  yourself  in  more  trouble 
than  if  you  had  traded  a  leaky  coffee-pot  for 
father's  old  suit." 

40 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  But  about  the  proposition  to  become  an 
editor,  Bashf ord  ? ' ' 

"Let's  talk  that  over  to-night.  It  sounds 
all  right.  We'll  see  if  we  can't  get  together, 
Colquhoun.  But  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  not 
talk  business  to-day.  I  want  to  see  if  there 
have  been  any  more  developments  in  the 
Annie  Davis  case  —  and  maybe  there'll  be 
something  new  about  your  horse." 

"Well,  if  I  hadn't  plumb  forgot  that  horse!" 

"  Bet  a  purty  the  man  that  stole  it  wished 
he  could  forget  it  by  this  time." 


M 


VI 


R.  BASHFORD  said  he  was  sorry  that 
the  Emigger's  horse  had  been  stolen,  but 
that  so  far  there  was  one  ray  of  sunshine  in 
the  gloom — Orphena  Green  had  not  written  a 
poem  about  it.  Orphena  writes  poetry  every 
time  any  one  dies,  and  Mr.  Bashford  says 
that  one  time  when  there  was  a  funeral  and 
the  preacher  asked,  "O  death,  where  is  thy 
sting?"  the  friends  of  the  late  deceased  arose 
in  a  body  and  read  one  of  her  poems.  But 
Mr.  Bashford  stretches  the  truth  sometimes. 

The  Emigger  was  in  earnest  when  he  talked 
with  Mr.  Bashford  about  becoming  a  journalist, 
for  the  next  week  he  sold  his  other  horse  and 
the  rag-wagon  and  bought  a  half  interest  in 
the  Chronicle.  He  and  Mr.  Bashford  had  an 
other  desk  put  in  for  him  to  work  at,  and  Mr. 
Bashford  said  that  for  the  present  he  had  bet 
ter  be  the  fighting  editor.  The  Emigger  got  a 
good  deal  of  local  items  the  first  week,  though, 
and  he  wrote  them  up  better  than  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  did,  too.  The  Emigger  knew  more  ad- 

42 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

jectives.  But  about  the  first  thing  he  did 
when  he  became  one  of  the  editors  was  to  say 
that  there  shouldn't  be  anything  more  printed 
about  Annie  Davis  having  run  away. 

"Poor  girl,"  he  said,  "there's  enough  talk 
about  her  in  town  without  us  keeping  it  alive. 
I  believe  she  would  be  coming  home  right  now 
if  she  didn't  know  that  the  whole  town  was 
tearing  her  to  pieces." 

Mr.  Bashford  looked  at  the  Emigger  kind  of 
sharply  when  he  said  that,  but  the  Emigger 
looked  him  right  in  the  eye. 

"Friend  of  the  family?"  Mr.  Bashford  asked, 
smiling  as  if  he  knew  something. 

"Yes,  and  a  friend  of  humanity,  too,  Bash- 
ford,"  the  Emigger  replied. 

So  after  that  the  paper  quit  printing  items 
about  how  no  further  clews  had  been  found. 
But  Oscar  Ferguson  did  not  give  up  the  case. 
He  still  had  the  note  Annie  had  left  when  she 
ran  away,  and  he  kept  on  trying  to  figure  out 
the  hidden  cipher  in  it.  He  got  so  that  he 
could  sit  down  with  that  note  for  half  an  hour 
and  work  out  a  hidden  message  that  was  all 
the  way  from  two  to  five  times  as  long  as  the 
note  itself.  He  worked  out  one  that  was  in 
rhyme,  and  Mr.  Bashford  told  him  that  this 
meant  that  it  was  Orphena  Green  who  had  run 
away,  and  that  Orphena  was  Annie  Davis  in. 

43 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

disguise.  But  Oscar  didn't  mind  Mr.  Bash- 
ford's  joking  so  much  as  he  otherwise  would, 
for  he  was  also  greatly  occupied  with  trailing 
down  the  Emigger's  stolen  horse.  Sometimes 
he  would  get  the  two  cases  confused,  and  talk 
about  Annie  being  stolen  and  the  horse  leav 
ing  a  farewell  note. 

Oscar  was  in  the  office  talking  to  me  one 
afternoon,  telling  me  how  he  would  unravel 
the  mystery  if  there  was  a  national  bank  in 
Plainville  and  it  should  be  blown  open  and 
robbed  at  high  noon  and  the  robbers  got  away 
without  leaving  any  trace  except  a  cold  chisel 
and  a  burned  match,  when  Mr.  Bashford  came 
in  with  the  mail,  and  said  to  the  Emigger: 

"Well,  here's  one  of  the  unexpected  sur 
prises  of  journalism  in  such  a  seething  mart  of 
commerce  as  Plainville." 

"What  is  it?"  the  Emigger  asked.  "Circus 
coming?" 

"  No.  Better  than  that.  A  new  subscriber. 
Gee,  but  that  carries  me  back  in  memory! 
Let's  see.  When  was  the  last  time  that  we 
got  a  new  subscriber?  Seems  to  me  that  it 
was  when  the  Honorable  Tobe  Ridgely,  of 
Kensington,  wanted  the  nomination  for  con 
gressman,  and  subsidized  me  by  paying  a  dol 
lar  for  a  whole  year's  subscription.  Well, 
history  repeats  herself — but  she  is  a  long  time 

44 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

about  it.  She  stutters,  doesn't  she,  Colqu- 
houn?" 

"Who's  your  new  subscriber?" 

"Don't  know.  It  comes  by  mail.  A  fair 
lady  who  lives  near  my  former  home,  Cincin 
nati.  Dottbtless  she  has  heard  of  my  rise  in 
the  world  and  wishes  to  keep  trace  of  my 
strides  along  the  pathway  of  fame.  At  any 
rate,  she  sends  a  dollar  bill  in  this  letter,  and 
asks  us  to  mail  her  the  Chronicle  regularly." 

He  tossed  the  envelope  over  to  the  Emigger, 
who  opened  it  and  read  the  letter,  which  said: 

"  Mr.  E.  J.  Bashford,  editor  of '  The  Plainville  Chronicle. ' 
"  Enclosed  please   find  a  dollar,  for  which  please 
send  the  Chronicle  to  this  address  for  one  year. 
"  Yours  truly, 

"  FLORENCE  DENNIS, 

"  Oaktown,  Ohio." 

"Where  is  Oaktown?"  the  Emigger  inquired. 

"  It's  about  ten  miles  from  Cincinnati.  Been 
through  there  many  a  time,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"And  who  is  Miss  Florence  Dennis?" 

"  Hanged  if  I  know.  Maybe  some  one  who 
used  to  kno\v  me,  as  I  suggested,  or  maybe 
she's  one  of  the  Dennises,  of  Virginia,  who 
wants  to  encourage  you  in  your  trial  heat 
along  the  road  of  literature." 

45 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

The  Emigger  smiled,  and  said  that  whoever 
she  was  the  dollar  would  help  some,  and  put 
her  name  in  the  book  where  we  keep  the  list  of 
single  wrappers,  and  threw  the  envelope  on  the 
floor.  Then  he  and  Mr.  Bashford  finished  their 
work  and  went  to  supper.  Oscar  started  out 
after  them,  but  he  stopped  and  bent  down 
when  he  got  to  the  Emigger 's  desk,  and  pretty 
soon  I  heard  him  catch  his  breath.  Then  he 
straightened  up  and  came  back  to  me,  his  eyes 
big  as  saucers. 

"On  the  trail!"  he  exclaimed. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Oscar?"  I 
asked  him. 

"On  the  trail!  Let  them  laugh  at  me  and 
deride  my  systems  of  deductions,  but  Fergu 
son,  the  detective,  will  yet  show  them  that  he 
knows  what  he  is  about.  I  knew  I  was  on  the 
right  track  when  I  hunted  for  the  cipher  in 
Annie  Davis 's  note." 

"Have  you  figured  out  another?" 

"I'm  on  the  trail,  I  tell  you.     Look  here." 

He  held  out  an  envelope  addressed  to  Mr. 
Bashford.  I  didn't  see  anything  strange  about 
it  and  said  so. 

"  No,  you  don't,  but  I,  with  my  trained  eye, 
do.  Whose  writing  is  that?" 

"How  would  I  know?" 

"Yes,  how  would  you?  It's  my  business  to 
46 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

know  things.  That's  the  envelope  that  new 
subscription  came  in." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  look  here." 

Oscar  took  out  Annie  Davis 's  farewell  note 
and  held  it  beside  the  envelope.  Sure  enough, 
the  writing  was  a  good  deal  alike.  Only  on 
the  envelope  you  could  see  that  whoever  had 
written  it  had  tried  to  write  awkwardly. 

"Where's  that  letter  that  was  in  this  en 
velope,  Johnny?" 

"On  Mr.  Colquhoun's  desk." 

"Get  it  for  me." 

I  told  Oscar  that  I  had  no  business  fooling 
with  what  was  on  the  desk  of  either  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  or  Mr.  Colquhoun,  and  that  if  he  wanted 
the  letter  he  had  better  go  and  find  Mr.  Colqu 
houn  and  tell  him  what  he  thought  he  had  dis 
covered.  Then  Mr.  Colquhoun,  I  knew,  would 
let  him  have  it. 

"No,  no,"  Oscar  said,  squinting  his  eyes  and 
looking  dark  and  shrewd.  "That  would  be 
fatal.  Colquhoun  or  Bashford  must  never 
know  of  this.  A  careless  word  from  either  of 
them  would  destroy  the  result  of  all  my  tire 
less,  careful  work.  It  wouldn't  do.  I  must 
have  that  letter  without  their  knowledge. 
But  how  to  get  it!" 

He  looked  at  me  so  piercingly  that  I  shiv- 
47 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

ered  and  pied  a  line  that  was  in  my  stick.  I 
never  saw  a  boy  so  excited  as  he  was.  His 
fingers  trembled  and  his  lips  were  shaking. 

"Get  it  for  me,  Johnny,"  he  begged. 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Then,  if  you're  a  friend  of  mine,  go  across 
the  street  for  a  minute.  Ask  me  no  questions, 
but  do  as  I  tell  you.  And  promise  never  on  your 
honor  to  divulge  what  I  have  shown  to  you." 

By  that  time  he  had  me  so  worked  up  that 
I  did  what  he  asked,  although  I  knew  I  would 
be  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  I  went  across  the 
street  and  back,  and  when  I  came  into  the 
office  Oscar  was  buttoning  up  his  coat  and 
ready  to  go  out. 

"Did  you?"  I  asked. 

"Sst!  Not  a  word.  What  you  don't  know 
you  can't  tell.  But  I'll  say  one  thing:  I'm  on 
the  trail  at  last." 

And  Oscar  hurried  out  and  struck  up  street 
towards  his  house.  I  felt  guilty  all  the  way 
home  after  I  had  shut  up  the  office,  and  after 
supper  I  went  over  to  Oscar's  house  to  talk 
with  him  about  what  we  had  done.  But  he 
wasn't  at  home.  Mr.  Ferguson  was  out  in  the 
yard,  and  when  he  saw  me  he  asked: 

"Johnny,  what  on  earth  is  Oscar  up  to  now  ?" 
I  said  I  didn't  know;  he  was  always  up  to  so 
many  things  that  it  was  hard  to  keep  track  of  him.. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  guess  you've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head," 
Mr.  Ferguson  said.  "He's  the  beatingest  boy 
in  this  town.  He  come  running  into  the 
house  an  hour  or  so  ago  and  told  me  he  had  to 
have  some  money  to  go  to  Cincinnati  with.  I 
said  he  couldn't  go,  and  wanted  to  know  why 
he  wanted  to  go.  He  said  he  couldn't  tell  me, 
but  he  was  on  the  trail.  That  boy  pestered 
me  and  his  mother,  but  I  held  out  for  it  that 
he  couldn't  go,  but  finally  he  wheedled  his 
mother  into  coaxing  me  to  let  him  have  ten 
dollars  if  he  would  be  back  to-morrow  night, 
and  I  give  him  the  money." 

"And  he's  gone?" 

"He's  gone  to  the  train  now.  Say,  Johnny, 
what  trail  is  it?" 

I  had  turned  around  and  was  starting  out  of 
the  gate  on  a  trot. 

"Johnny!"  Mr.  Ferguson  yelled  at  me.  I 
stopped. 

"What's  Oscar  up  to?  What  trail  is  he  on? 
Annie  Davis  or  that  horse?" 

"I'll  ask  him,"  I  shouted  back,  and  ran 
lickety-split  to  the  depot,  for  the  train  to  Cin 
cinnati  was  just  pulling  in.  It  left  just  as  I 
ran  up  on  the  platform,  and  Oscar  was  on  the 
back  car  and  waved  his  hand  to  me.  I  called 
to  him,  but  he  shook  his  head  that  he  couldn't 
say  anything. 

49 


VII 


OSCAR  got  home  on  the  seven  o'clock  train 
from  Cincinnati  the  next  evening,  and  I 
was  at  the  station  to  meet  him.  But  his  pa 
was  there,  too,  and  Oscar  hadn't  any  more 
than  said  "Hello"  to  me  than  his  pa  was  tell 
ing  him  to  hurry  on  home  with  him  because 
his  ma  was  keeping  supper  waiting  for  him.  I 
could  see  by  Oscar's  face  that  he  had  found 
out  something.  You  know  how  a  boy  looks 
when  he  knows  something  that  he  is  afraid  to 
tell  but  that  he  just  has  to  tell  to  somebody  or 
else  it  will  never  let  him  go  to  sleep.  That 
was  the  way  Oscar  looked.  And  you  know 
how  a  boy  feels  when  he  knows  that  another 
boy  wants  to  tell  him  something  as  bad  as  all 
that.  Well,  that  is  just  how  I  felt. 

Along  about  ten  o'clock  I  slipped  over  to 
Ferguson's.  I  went  down  the  alley  back  of 
their  house  and  climbed  over  the  garden  fence 
and  fell  down  over  a  cucumber  hill.  Some 
one  came  out  on  the  back  porch  and  asked 
who  was  there,  but  I  laid  still  and  said  noth- 

5° 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

ing.  After  a  minute  or  so  whoever  it  was  said 
he  guessed  nobody  was  there  after  all,  and 
went  back  into  the  house.  Then  he — it  was 
Mr.  Ferguson — took  the  lamp  off  the  sitting- 
room  table  and  went  up-stairs.  I  waited  and 
waited.  I  saw  the  light  go  into  the  room 
where  Oscar  slept,  and  could  just  hear  voices 
in  that  room.  It  seemed  to  me  that  Mr.  Fer 
guson  was  trying  to  find  out  from  Oscar  where 
he  had  been  and  what  he  had  done,  and  that 
Oscar  wouldn't  tell.  After  another  long  time 
the  light  left  Oscar's  room  and  went  into  an 
other  room  away  around  on  the  side  of  the 
house.  Then  it  went  out,  and  I  knew  Mr. 
Ferguson  had  gone  to  bed.  I  waited  some 
more,  and  then  I  whistled.  It  was  a  whistle 
that  only  Oscar  and  I  used.  I  got  no  answer, 
and  so  I  whistled  again.  Directly,  Oscar  came 
softly,  out  on  the  back  porch.  I  whistled  real 
low,  and  he  came  down  the  steps.  Then  his 
ma  called : 

"Oscar,  is  that  you?" 

"Yes'm,"  he  said. 

"Where  in  the  world  are  you  going?" 

"To  get  a  drink." 

He  went  to  the  pump  and  pumped  some.  I 
sneaked  up  to  the  harvest-apple-tree  not  far 
from  the  pump  and  whispered: 

"Oscar." 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"That  you,  Johnny?"  he  whispered  back. 

"Yes." 

"Be  there  in  a  minute." 

He  came  over  where  I  was  and  sat  down  in 
the  grass  by  me.  He  just  had  on  his  night 
shirt,  and  he  tucked  his  feet  up  under  him  and 
shivered  a  little.  It  was  the  beginning  of 
August,  and  we  were  having  cool  nights. 

"What  did  you  find  out?"  I  whispered. 

"'Sh!     Wait  a  minute." 

I  waited.  I  understood.  He  wanted  his 
folks  to  go  to  sleep  before  he  would  talk  to  me. 
We  sat  there  and  looked  up  through  the 
branches  of  the  tree  at  the  stars.  I  never  saw 
such  a  still  night.  Not  a  leaf  was  stirring  on 
the  tree.  The  sky  was  kind  of  a  deep,  dark 
blue,  and  was  farther  away  than  I  ever  noticed 
it  to  be.  But  the  stars  shone  like  great,  big 
lanterns.  Stars  are  very  solemn  things,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  them.  I  thought  of 
them  a  good  deal  that  night  while  Oscar  and  I 
laid  there,  afraid  to  say  a  word.  I  wondered 
why  the  stars  were  there,  and  what  they  really 
were,  anyhow.  Four  or  five  of  them  were 
great,  big,  white  stars  that  seemed  to  be  push 
ing  back  the  little  yellow  ones  so  they  could 
make  all  the  light  that  was  to  be  made.  And 
the  Milky  Way  started  away  off  down  by  the 
Indian  mound  and  arched  right  up  over  our 

52 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

heads  and  dropped  again  up  the  creek  by  the 
railroad  culvert.  It  looked  just  as  if  you  had 
taken  a  wide  brush  and  swept  it  above  you 
and  across  the  sky.  I  thought  of  how  I  had 
read  somewhere  that  every  speck  in  the  Milky 
Way  was  a  sun,  and  had  earths  and  planets 
running  around  it,  and  comets  shooting  every 
which  way,  but  we  couldn't  see  anything  ex 
cept  the  haze  which  was  really  made  up  of 
suns  that  \vere  millions  of  miles  apart.  And 
then  the  big  stars!  I  wondered  if  some  one 
lived  on  them — if  people  were  there,  and  if 
maybe  two  boys  were  sitting  or  laying  out  un 
der  an  apple-tree  away  up  there,  billions  and 
trillions  of  miles  away,  and  looking  down  here 
at  a  little  speck  of  light  and  wondering  if  any 
one  was  living  on  it.  I  wondered  what  I 
would  find  if  I  was  to  start  in  a  balloon  or 
something  and  go  on  and  on  between  those 
stars,  out  through  the  dark — and  I  shivered 
when  I  thought  of  where  I  would  fall  and  what 
I  would  hit,  if  I  hit  anything  at  all,  if  the  bal 
loon  should  burst.  I  tell  you,  a  fellow  gets  to 
thinking  some  mighty  solemn  things  when  he 
looks  at  the  stars,  and  everything  is  still  all 
around  him.  That  night  we  couldn't  hear  a 
sound,  except  now  and  then  a  screech-owl  away 
out  in  the  country,  or  old  Squire  Miller  snoring 
He  lives  across  the  street  from  Ferguson's. 

53 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Well,  I  saw  Annie  Davis." 

I  jumped,  and  I  would  have  yelled.  It  was 
Oscar  speaking  right  there  beside  me,  and  he 
only  whispered  it,  but  just  then  I  was  so  full 
of  ideas  about  folks  being  on  the  stars  that  I 
thought  it  was  some  one  talking  to  me  from  a 
planet,  or  maybe  a  ghost.  Oscar  put  his  hand 
over  my  mouth  and  said: 

"Keep  cool.  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
anyhow?" 

I  said  I  guessed  I  must  have  been  half 
asleep;  then  he  went  on: 

"  I  saw  Annie  Davis.  I  worked  that  cipher 
out  all  right,  Johnny.  I  knew  it  when  I  found 
that  envelope  on  the  floor  of  the  office.  Didn't 
I  tell  you  I  was  on  the  trail?" 

"You  saw  Annie  Davis?" 

"Yes.  She's  Florence  Dennis,  of  Oaktown, 
Ohio." 

"She  is?" 

I've  read  detective  stories,  all  the  way  from 
the  five-cent  ones  that  you  can  buy  on  the 
train  to  the  ones  that  that  man  gets  five  dol 
lars  a  word  for  writing,  but  this  was  different. 
I  wras  seeing  a  real  detective  story  now,  and  I 
tell  you  I  felt  shaky. 

"Yes,"  Oscar  went  on,  speaking  as  calm  and 
cool  as  if  he  was  telling  about  going  swimming, 
"I  saw  her  and  I  talked  to  her.  I  went  to 

54 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Cincinnati,  then  got  on  a  street-car  and  went 
out  to  Oaktown.  It  took  me  all  this  morning 
to  locate  her.  I  had  an  idea  that  she  would 
strive  to  conceal  her  identity  by  taking  an  as 
sumed  name,  and  be  working  out  in  some 
family  as  cook  or  something  like  that.  You 
see,  Johnny,  if  you're  going  to  be  a  detective 
you  have  got  to  be  able  to  form  theories.  If  I 
hadn't  had  a  theory  about  Annie  Davis  I  never 
would  have — 

"Go  on  and  tell  me  how  you  found  her." 

"All  right,"  Oscar  said,  kind  of  hurt  because 
I  choked  him  off  before  he  could  tell  me  how 
he  made  his  theories.  "  I  asked  careless  like 
about  a  girl  answering  her  description." 

"Who  did  you  ask?" 

"  Now,  who  would  you  ask  if  you  wanted  to 
find  a  girl  \vho  was  a  servant  ? ' ' 

"Ring  the  door-bell  and  look  for  her  when 
she  answered  it." 

"That  shows  how  much  you  know.  I  asked 
the  man  that  drives  the  delivery  wagon  for  the 
only  grocery  in  Oaktown." 

"Did  he  know  her?" 

"Right  away.  It  was  dead  easy.  He  told 
me  where  to  go  to  find  her,  and  I  went  there. 
I  went  to  the  kitchen  door,  and  there  she  \vas 
inside,  washing  the  dishes." 

"What  did  she  do  when  she  saw  you?" 
55 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"She  kind  of  gasped,  and  let  the  dishcloth 
fall,  then  called  me  by  name  and  wanted  to 
know  what  in  the  world  I  was  doing  there. 
'That's  just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you,'  I 
says.  Then  she  asked  me  how  I  happened  to 
be  in  Oaktown,  and  I  said  that  I  was  going 
around  a  little  to  see  the  country,  and  heard 
she  was  there,  and  thought  I  would  drop  in 
and  see  her.  You  see,  Johnny,  if  you're  going 
to  be  a  detective  you  must  never  give  away 
the  real  purpose  of  your  actions.  If  I'd  told 
Annie  right  off  that  I  had  come  down  there  to 
find  her  she  would  have  been  scared  to  death 
and  would  have  run  out  of  that  kitchen,  like  as 
not,  and  hid  somewhere 's  else.  'How's  every 
body  at  home?'  she  asked  me.  'Pretty  well, 
the  last  I  heard  from  there,'  I  says,  as  if  I  had 
been  away  for  a  long  time.  Then  before  she 
had  a  chance  to  ask  me  how  long  I  had  been 
away  I  told  her  I  thought  she  was  on  the  stage. 
She  got  red  and  white,  and  stammered  a  little, 
and  then  she  looked  at  me  and  froze  me.  Up 
to  that  minute  she  had  been  so  glad  to  see  me, 
because  I  was  from  home,  that  she  had  forgot 
that  I  was  just  a  boy  while  she  was  a  young 
woman — and  when  I  said  that  she  got  the  idea 
I  was  trying  to  be  a  smart  Aleck,  and  she  put 
on  her  dignity.  I  apologized  right  away,  of 
course,  told  her  I  didn't  mean  to  offend  her, 

56 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

and  that  really  I  thought,  like  everybody  else, 
that  she  was  a  great  actress  by  this  time. 
'Well,  Oscar,'  she  says,  kind  of  sad,  'I  never 
went  on  the  stage.'  'You  didn't?'  I  asked. 
'Then  where  have  you  been  all  this  time?' 
'Right  here,'  she  told  me.  Then  she  looked  at 
me  suspicious  like  and  asks  real  quick,  'How 
did  you  know  I  was  here?'  I  almost  gave  my 
self  away.  I  was  about  to  tell  her  how  I 
found  out,  when  I  recollected  that  would  never 
do.  You  know  a  detective  must  never — " 

"I  know.  What  did  you  say  to  her?"  I 
broke  in,  turning  up  my  coat  collar  and  shiv 
ering  when  a  shooting-star  zipped  across  the 
sky. 

"  I  told  her  I  just  accidentally  found  out  she 
was  at  that  house,"  Oscar  said,  huffy  like  be 
cause  I  interrupted  him.  "Then  I  saw  that 
she  was  anxious  to  get  the  news  from  home,  so 
I  told  her  about  how  bad  her  folks  were  feeling 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  first  thing  I 
knew  she  was  crying.  'What  do  the  people 
up  there  think  of  me?'  she  asked.  'Why,'  I 
says,  just  as  kind  as  I  could  say  it,  'everybody 
thinks  the  same  of  you  as  ever.  Nobody 
would  dare  say  a  word  against  you  as  long  as 
the  Emigger  is  there.'  'The  Emigger?'  she 
asks,  sort  of  puzzled,  then  smiled.  'Oh  yes, 
Mr.  Colquhoun.  I  had  almost  forgotten  that 

5  57 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

was  his  nickname.'  So  then  I  asked  her  why 
she  didn't  come  home,  and  she  said  she  might 
come  after  a  while,  but  not  now.  Then  she 
wanted  to  know  when  I  expected  to  go  home, 
and  I  told  her  I  wasn't  right  sure,  but  I  ex 
pected  to  go  back  pretty  soon.  And  she  asked 
me  please  never  to  tell  any  one  I  had  seen  her, 
but  I  said  I  couldn't  make  that  promise,  be 
cause  you  know  a  fellow  might  be  on  his  dying 
bed  and  then  some  one  might  ask  him  a  ques 
tion,  and  of  course  he  would  feel  like  telling 
the  truth  about  whatever  they  asked  him.  So 
then  I- 

Just  then  Mrs.  Ferguson  came  out  on  the 
porch  and  called: 

"Oscar." 

"Yes,  ma." 

"Where  are  you?" 

"Out  here  with  Johnny." 

"Well,  the  very  idea!  You  march  right  into 
this  house  and  go  to  your  bed.  The  very  idea! 
Sitting  out  there  in  your  night-shirt,  catching 
your  death  o'  cold.  Johnny  Thompson,  you 
go  straight  home.  Like  as  not  your  ma  is 
worrying  herself  to  death  wondering  where 
you  are.  What  in  the  name  of  time  do  you 
two  boys  find  to  talk  about  at  this  hour  of 
night  ?  No  good,  I  warrant.  Oscar,  you  come 
right  along  in." 

58 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Oscar  was  going  up  the  steps  by  this  time, 
and  so  I  went  on  out  through  the  front  gate 
and  got  home  all  right.  Nobody  said  any 
thing  to  me  about  being  out  so  late,  because 
my  folks  thought  like  as  not  I  was  working 
down  at  the  office. 

Next  morning  Oscar  told  me  how  his  ma 
made  him  eat  a  piece  of  pie  and  drink  some 
milk  and  warm  his  feet  at  the  kitchen  stove, 
where  there  was  some  fire  left  from  getting 
supper,  before  he  went  to  bed,  and  that  she 
simply  worried  him  with  questions  until  at  last 
she  had  got  most  of  the  story  out  of  him.  At 
least,  she  got  him  to  tell  that  he  had  seen 
Annie  Davis  and  talked  with  her.  Of  course, 
she  didn't  mean  to  tell  a  soul,  but  before  noon 
next  day  it  was  all  over  town,  and  Oscar  was 
being  stopped  every  ten  steps  by  folks  that 
wanted  to  ask  him  about  it,  and  to  pat  him  on 
the  shoulder  and  brag  about  how  smart  and 
smooth  he  was.  Squire  Miller  and  Marshal 
Smith  and  Fred  Parker  and  some  more  of 
them  had  him  cornered  under  the  awning  at 
Jordan's  grocery,  and  squire  was  so  interested 
that  he  had  quit  playing  a  tune  on  his  locust 
leaf,  when  the  Emigger  came  into  the  crowd 
as  if  he  was  in  a  hurry,  and  grabbed  Oscar  by 
the  arm  and  started  off  with  him  towards  the 
office. 

59 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  want  to  see  you,  Oscar,"  he  said.  Oscar 
told  me  afterwards  that  when  the  Emigger 
looked  at  him  and  said  that  he  felt  as  if 
he  was  guilty  of  something.  The  Emigger 
brought  Oscar  to  the  office  and  got  the  story 
out  of  him  in  about  three  minutes,  and  then 
asked  him: 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  us  about  this  when 
you  found  that  clew?" 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  laugh  at  me." 

"Well,  maybe  it  isn't  too  late  yet,"  the 
Emigger  said,  getting  up  and  starting  out. 
Mr.  Bashford  was  coming  in  just  then,  and  the 
Emigger  stopped. 

"  Hello,"  said  Mr.  Bashford  to  Oscar.  "  Here's 
Vidocq  the  Great  home  again.  Let  me  con 
gratulate  you." 

Oscar  got  red  and  looked  foolish,  then 
bucked  up  and  said: 

"Well,  I  found  her  all  right." 

"Bashford,"  the  Emigger  said,  "I'm  going 
out  of  town  this  afternoon  for  a  day  or  so." 

"Going  into  the  detective  business,  too?" 
Mr.  Bashford  asked. 

"Maybe,"  the  Emigger  replied,  with  a  funny 
smile. 

He  went  down  to  Davis 's  and  talked  with 
the  folks  there  a  while,  and  then  that  after 
noon  he  went  to  Cincinnati.  Instead  of  being 

60 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

back  in  a  day  or  so  he  didn't  come  home  for 
over  a  week.  He  wrote  to  Mr.  Bashford  that 
Annie  Davis  had  left  her  place  in  Oaktown  the 
same  afternoon  that  Oscar  was  there,  and  that 
she  hadn't  been  heard  of  since,  but  that  he 
thought  he  might  locate  her.  Anyhow,  he 
would  see  what  he  could  find  out. 


VIII 

IT  was  along  about  this  time  that  Orphena 
Green  started  the  barefoot  cure  in  Plain- 
ville.  It  seemed  to  me  while  the  Emigger  was 
away  that  week  that  there  wasn't  anything 
happening  at  all  until  Orphena  tried  to  or 
ganize  the  Barefoot  Health  Culture  Club.  Or 
phena  was  the  greatest  woman  to  organize 
clubs  you  ever  saw.  Mr.  Bashford  said  he 
counted  that  week  lost  whose  Saturday  night 
did  not  see  a  new  club  suggested  by  Orphena. 
Once  she  got  up  a  poetry  club  that  was  to 
read  the  works  of  Shakespeare  and  Byron  and 
some  others,  and  criticise  them;  and  then  next 
she  organized  an  Omar  Khayyam — Mr.  Bash- 
ford  says  that  man  spelled  his  name  that  way 
because  of  his  lack  of  education — an  Omar 
Khayyam  Club,  but  when  they  got  to  reading 
verses  about  wine  some  of  the  temperance 
ladies  objected,  and  although  Orphena  ex 
plained  that  it  was  meant  in  the  figurative 
sense,  they  condemned  the  book  and  got  up 
such  a  hot  discussion  that  nearly  everybody  in 

62 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

town  bought  a  copy  of  it,  and  the  boys  would 
steal  it  from  the  house  and  try  to  read  it  down 
the  creek  or  back  of  the  livery  -  stable.  It 
really  wasn't  bad  at  all — just  a  lot  of  stuff 
about  a  man  named  Jamshid  and  the  Rose, 
and  about  every  other  word  began  with  a  capi 
tal  letter,  and  there  was  a  lot  of  notes  at  the 
bottom  of  the  pages.  It  looked  too  much  like 
a  grammar  for  the  boys  to  like  it  very  much. 
Mr.  Bashford  said  that  no  matter  what  kind  of 
a  club  Orphena  got  up,  a  quilting-bee  by  any 
other  name  remained  the  same.  But  he  al 
ways  printed  notices  about  the  club  meetings, 
and  if  they  only  had  cake  and  lemonade  he 
wrote  that  "a  superb  collation  was  served." 
But  I  started  out  to  tell  about  the  Barefoot 
Health  Culture  Club. 

Orphena  came  up  to  our  house  and  asked 
ma  if  she  didn't  want  to  join.  Ma  asked  her 
what  it  was  to  be.  Pa  was  sitting  there  at  the 
time. 

"It  is  to  be  the  Barefoot  Health  Culture 
Club,"  Orphena  said.  "You  see,  there  is  a 
new  discovery  that  if  people  would  only  go 
barefooted  they  would  never  be  sick." 

"Who  discovered  it?"  pa  asked. 

"A  doctor  in  Germany,"  Orphena  answered. 

"Corn  doctor?"  pa  asked. 

"No,  indeed.  He  is  one  of  the  world's 
63 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

greatest  savants,"  Orphena  replied,  pronounc 
ing  the  last  word  "s'vahnts." 

"Has  he  got  a  grudge  against  the  shoe 
stores?"  pa  wanted  to  know. 

"Now,  Mr.  Thompson,  don't  make  fun  of 
me,  please.  This  is  really  a  wonderful  dis 
covery.  If  it  had  been  known  years  ago  the 
world  would  have  been  a  better  and  a  happier 
place." 

"Maybe  so,"  pa  said.  "But  I  had  an  idea 
that  it  wasn't  altogether  a  new  plan.  It  runs 
in  my  mind  that  the  same  scheme  was  tried  a 
good  long  time  ago.  Seems  to  me  I've  heard 
of  people  who  had  the  barefoot  fad — but  from 
what  I  read  and  learned  about  them  they  did 
not  get  along  very  well." 

"Why,  I  never  heard  of  its  being  tried  be 
fore,"  Orphena  declared. 

"He's  only  joking,"  ma  said. 

"No,  I'm  not.  I  think  I  can  find  it  all 
recorded  for  you." 

"Recorded?"  Orphena  asked.  "I'd  just 
like  to  know  where.  I  don't  believe  you  can 
show  me  anything  about  it." 

"Oh  yes,  I  can.  If  you'll  take  the  trouble 
to  look  up  the  book  of  Genesis  you'll  read 
about  a  gentleman  named  Adam  and  a  lady 
named  Eve  who  went  barefooted,  and— 

But  Orphena  had  got  up  and  was  flouncing 
64 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

out,  muttering  that  she  was  insulted,  and  that 
it  was  rude  to  treat  a  scientific  subject  in  such 
a  frivolous  way.  Pa  laid  back  in  his  chair 
and  laughed  as  hard  as  he  could,  and  ma  went 
to  the  door  with  Orphena  and  tried  to  smooth 
things  over,  but  Orphena  was  mad  clear  through. 

Orphena  finally  got  up  her  club.  She  was 
president  of  it,  of  course,  and  she  got  about  a 
dozen  members  to  join.  Flora  Banford  was 
the  first  one  to  sign  the  roll.  Miss  Banford 
has  been  to  nearly  all  the  sanatoriums  in  the 
country.  She  gets  nervous  prostration  regu 
larly  every  spring,  and  goes  away  for  a  rest 
cure  or  something  like  that.  Mr.  Bashford 
says  he  keeps  an  item  in  type  all  the  time,  so 
as  to  save  the  trouble  of  setting  it  up  every 
spring,  that  "Miss  Flora  Banford  left  this  week 
for  treatment  in  a  health  resort.  She  is  suffer 
ing  from  a  severe  attack  of  nervous  prostra 
tion."  Sometimes  Flora  has  to  be  carried  to 
the  train  on  a  cot,  and  other  times  she  starts 
from  their  house  about  an  hour  before  train 
time,  and  almost  creeps  to  the  depot.  Mr. 
Bashford  says  that  once  she  stopped  half-way 
to  the  depot  to  tell  somebody  about  how  weak 
she  was,  and  that  she  raised  her  arm  and 
waved  it  over  her  head  and  said: 

"  If  I  was  to  lift  my  arm  this  way  it  would 
kill  me." 

65 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Then  old  Mrs.  Anderson,  who  is  a  theos- 
ophist,  and  also  says  that  she  is  a  mind- 
reader  and  a  psychologist,  joined  in  with 
Flora  and  Orphena,  and  then  Orphena  got  a 
paper  that  had  a  whole  page  telling  how  the 
barefoot-cure  fad  was  the  most  popular  thing 
in  New  York  society.  The  others  joined  as 
soon  as  they  saw  that.  The  club  was  to  take 
its  first  treatment  Monday  morning,  and  Sab 
bath  at  church — or  after  church,  rather — there 
was  a  lot  of  talk  among  them.  Each  one  that 
was  in  the  club  had  to  explain  all  about  it  to 
those  that  didn't  understand  what  the  object 
was. 

Friday,  Lafe  Skidmore  came  into  the  office. 
Lafe  lives  out  at  the  edge  of  town  in  a  tumble 
down  little  shack  of  a  house,  and  he  never  does 
any  work  at  all.  In  the  forenoons  he  loafs  in 
front  of  Jordan's  grocery,  in  the  afternoons  he 
generally  sits  in  the  harness-shop  and  tells  war 
stories,  and  at  night  he  loafs  around  the  depot 
until  it  closes,  and  then  he  stays  around  the 
livery-stable  until  it  is  time  to  go  home.  Mr. 
Bashford  says  that  when  Plainville  was  laid 
out  the  surveyor  saw  Lafe  in  a  field  about  a 
mile  away  and  took  him  for  a  stump,  and 
sighted  his  instrument  on  him  to  lay  out  Main 
Street.  But  Lafe  kept  moving  slowly  to  keep 
in  the  shade  of  the  woods,  and  the  result  was 

66 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

that  Main  Street  has  a  crook  in  it  like  a  dog's 
hind  leg.  I  don't  believe  Lafe  is  as  old  as 
that,  but  it  is  the  truth  that  Main  Street  is 
crooked. 

Lafe  had  been  working  for  a  few  days  and 
wasn't  feeling  very  well,  so  Mr.  Bashford  told 
him  all  about  the  barefoot  cure,  and  how  the 
new  club  was  being  organized. 

"People  are  making  mistakes  every  day, 
Lafe,"  Mr.  Bashford  said.  "They  rub  on  stuff 
to  make  their  hair  grow,  and  they  take  stuff  to 
make  their  stomachs  work,  when  really  if  they 
would  just  go  barefoot  they  would  keep  in  per 
fect  health." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  barefoot,  Mr.  Bashford?" 
Lafe  asked. 

"I  do — half  the  time,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"I  wonder  if  it  would  help  me  any?" 

"If  I  were  you  I  would  join  that  club." 

Well,  the  Barefoot  Club  started  out  Monday 
morning  bright  and  early.  They  were  to  begin 
their  treatment  by  walking  barefoot  from  Mc- 
Filkin's  woods  across  the  fields  and  meadows 
to  town.  They  all  walked  out  there  with  their 
shoes  on,  and  none  of  them  happened  to  think 
that  the  pike  they  would  have  to  cross  coming 
home  had  just  been  covered  with  a  lot  of  chip- 
rock.  Oscar  Ferguson  and  I  went  out  to 
watch  them  march.  It  was  a  lot  of  fun. 

67 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

They  all  went  into  the  woods  and  took  off 
their  shoes  and  stockings,  and  came  out  gig 
gling.  But  Miss  Green  talked  to  them  for  a 
few  minutes  about  the  high  and  noble  object 
they  were  pursuing,  and  they  quieted  down. 

Then  they  started  forth. 

Miss  Green  was  in  the  lead.  She  had  her 
shoes  and  stockings  hanging  over  her  arm,  and 
she  walked  with  her  head  up  and  her  shoulders 
back,  like  the  pictures  of  Joan  of  Arc  leading 
her  army.  Back  of  her  was  Flora  Banford. 
Flora  had  been  talking  about  communing  with 
nature  in  her  varied  moods  and  plucking  the 
nestling  beauties  of  the  dell,  and  telling  about 
how  she  suffered  so  much  the  last  week  with 
nervous  prostration.  Mrs.  Anderson  walked 
beside  Flora.  Mrs.  Anderson,  I  forgot  to  say, 
must  weigh  two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds, 
and  of  course  she  walked  slow,  but  she  had  a 
faraway  look  in  her  eyes,  like  she  has  when  she 
talks  about  mahatmas  and  things  from  India. 
The  others  trailed  along  through  the  field — it 
was  a  pasture,  and  the  grass  was  nice  and  soft. 

Oscar  and  I  kept  up  with  them,  looking  for 
the  fun.  We  knew  that  the  next  place  they 
would  have  to  go  through  would  be  a  stubble- 
field,  and  anybody  that  ever  tried  to  walk 
barefoot  across  stubble  knows  what  that 
means.  Miss  Green  made  us  boys  go  on 

68 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

anead  while  they  climbed  through  the  barbed- 
wire  fence.  We  got  about  half-way  across  the 
stubble  and  then  turned  around  to  see  if  they 
were  coming.  Miss  Green  was  about  a  hun 
dred  feet  from  the  barbed -wire  fence,  Mrs. 
Anderson  and  Miss  Banford  were  keeping  up 
pretty  well,  but  the  rest  were  stepping  mighty 
carefully.  Every  now  and  then  some  woman 
would  shout,  "Ouch!"  and  jump  sideways,  and 
then  step  on  the  stubble  with  the  other  foot 
and  scream  again.  Oscar  and  I  kept  away 
ahead  of  them  so  we  could  laugh  without  being 
impolite.  We  could  hear  what  they  said  from 
time  to  time.  One  of  them  would  groan, 
"Well,  if  I'd  known  it  was  this  way!"  Then 
another  would  exclaim:  "Oh,  my  goodness 
alive!"  "Ooh!"  "For  mercy  sakes!"  "Oh, 
dear,  oh,  dear!  Will  we  never  get  across?" 
and  things  like  that.  And  when  they  were 
pretty  near  through  the  field  some  one  of  them 
cried:  "My  gracious!  Who  is  that?" 

And  walking  side  by  side  with  them,  only 
about  forty  feet  away,  was  Lafe  Skidmore, 
barefooted,  with  his  pants  rolled  up  to  his 
knees.  Lafe  was  limping  something  awful, 
and  saying  things  that  nobody  could  hear  but 
that  anybody  could  guess,.  He  didn't  make  it 
across  the  field.  All  of  a  sudden  he  sat  right 
down  where  he  was  and  put  on  his  shoes. 

69 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Orphena  Green  said  that  displayed  the 
weaker  nature  of  man,  and  that  the  world 
looked  to  woman  to  show  it  the  light.  At  last 
they  got  through  the  stubble,  and  then  they 
all  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  fanned  them 
selves  and  looked  at  one  another.  Their  hats 
were  lopsided  and  their  hair  was  stringing 
down  into  their  eyes,  and  their  faces  were  red 
as  beets.  They  kept  their  feet  tucked  up  un 
der  them  like  they  were  chickens. 

Mrs.  Anderson  puffed  for  breath  and  said: 
"Well,  this  is  a  good  cure,  I  know.  But  it 
might  have  been  better  to  take  it  in  homoeo 
pathic  doses." 

Orphena  arose  and  said  that  they  must  go 
onward  in  their  march  of  progress.  So  they 
limped  across  the  fields  to  the  pike,  but  even  if 
the  grass  was  nice  and  thick  they  went  awful 
slow.  And  when  they  came  out  to  the  pike — 
Oscar  and  I  had  opened  the  big  gate  for  them 
so  they  wouldn't  have  to  climb  the  fence — I 
never  heard  such  moans  and  exclamations. 
All  the  way,  as  far  as  you  could  see,  the  pike 
was  covered  with  chiprock.  If  anybody  was 
to  try  to  walk  across  that  it  would  cut  their 
feet  all  to  pieces.  Mrs.  Anderson  just  dropped 
right  down  at  the  side  of  the  road  and  vowed 
she  wouldn't  go  a  step  farther.  Miss  Banford 
dropped  down,  too,  and  began  to  cry.  She 

70 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

said  she  knew  she  would  have  a  relapse  of 
nervous  prostration  before  night,  and  Miss 
Green  spoke  up  right  sharp  and  said  she  ought 
to  be  glad,  because  she  had  been  trying  for  a 
whole  month  to  get  up  an  excuse  for  having  it 
so  that  she  could  brag  about  having  it  twice 
in  one  year.  It  looked  as  if  they  were  going 
to  quarrel  right  there,  but  some  of  the  others 
spoke  up  and  said  this  wasn't  the  time  or  the 
place  for  harsh  words.  After  a  while  Mrs. 
Anderson  said  for  us  boys  to  go  on  home  now, 
because  they  wanted  to  put  on  their  shoes  and 
walk  the  rest  of  the  way  that  way.  So  we 
started  off  towards  the  cross-roads  that  turns 
into  town,  but  we  hadn't  got  out  of  sight  over 
the  hill  before  we  heard  them  calling  for  us  to 
come  back.  Lafe  Skidmore  was  laying  under 
a  tree  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  he  got  up  and 
looked  towards  the  women.  They  were  all 
yelling  for  us  to  come  back.  So  Oscar  and  me 
and  Lafe  Skidmore  hurried  where  they  were. 
It  was  rich.  When  they  had  tried  to  get  their . 
shoes  on  their  feet  were  so  swollen  and  sore 
that  they  couldn't  get  them  into  the  shoes, 
and  there  they  were  two  miles  from  town  and 
no  way  to  get  home  without  going  barefoot. 
Some  of  them  were  giggling  kind  of  funny,  and 
others  were  crying,  but  Miss  Green  and  Mrs. 
Anderson  just  sat  and  glared  at  each  other. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Oh,  dear!"  Flora  Banford  said.  "How  on 
earth  will  I  ever  get  my  poor  feet  to  quit  hurt- 
ing?" 

"I'd  try  the  barefoot  cure  if  I  was  you, 
mum,"  Lafe  said. 

That  gave  them  an  excuse.  They  must 
have  all  been  aching  for  a  chance  to  say  what 
they  thought,  and  so  they  all  turned  on  Lafe 
Skidmore,  and  if  they  didn't  read  his  title  clear 
it  was  because  they  got  out  of  breath  before 
they  got  through  scolding  him  for  loafing 
around  and  letting  his  garden  grow  up  with 
weeds  and  his  roof  get  leaky  and  himself  be 
the  town  joke  as  a  loafer.  And  besides,  Lafe 
didn't  let  them  finish.  He  got  up  and  started 
away  while  they  were  all  talking  at  once,  and 
when  he  got  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off  he 
turned  and  hollered  back  that  there  was  other 
ways  of  being  a  fool  besides  loafing. 

"Johnny,"  Orphena  Green  said  to  me, 
"won't  you  and  Oscar  please  go  to  the  livery- 
stable  and  have  them  send  the  big  picnic  'bus 
out  for  us?" 

Of  course  we  would.  And  then  they  all 
asked  us  not  to  say  a  word  to  anybody  about 
why  they  wanted  the  'bus.  We  said,  "All 
right."  But  everybody  in  town  knew  about 
their  starting  out  that  morning,  and  we  had  to 
tell  who  the  rig  was  for;  and  even  if  they  did 

72 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

have  the  'bus  drive  up  back  streets  and  take 
them  home,  there  was  a  lot  of  folks  that  just 
happened  to  be  around  the  neighborhood  when 
each  of  them  crawled  out  and  limped  into  the 
house.  Most  of  them  stayed  in  their  houses 
the  rest  of  the  week,  rubbing  salve  and  stuff 
on  their  feet,  and  when  they  did  get  out  they 
all  blamed  everything  on  Orphena  Green;  but 
they  couldn't  say  much  because  they  didn't 
want  to  get  her  so  mad  she  wouldn't  write 
poems  for  their  birthday  -  parties  and  anni 
versaries  and  weddings  and  things  like  that. 

Mr.  Bashford  asked  me  all  about  it,  and  I 
told  him  the  whole  story,  just  about  as  I  have 
written  it  here,  except,  of  course,  it  is  a  good 
while  now  since  it  happened,  and  at  that  time 
I  could  remember  a  good  deal  more  about  it. 
Mr.  Bashford  wrote  a  whole  long  article  about 
it,  giving  the  names  of  the  members  of  the 
club  and  all  the  particulars.  Then  he  read  it 
over  and  over,  and  finally  tore  it  up  and 
chuckled,  and  wrote  this  item: 

"The  barefoot  cure  was  given  a  trial  Mon 
day.  It  was  a  success.  None  of  the  patients 
will  suffer  from  bare  feet  for  a  long  while  to 
come." 


IX 


I  HAD  been  watching  the  trains  from  Cin 
cinnati  to  see  when  the  Emigger  got  home, 
but  it  began  to  look  as  if  he  wasn't  coming 
back.  And  then  people  began  to  shake  their 
heads  and  look  wise  and  wonder  why  he  had 
gone  away  so  mysteriously — just  as  strangely 
as  he  had  come  to  Plainville.  Even  though 
he  had  made  no  effort  to  conceal  anything 
about  himself,  there  were  lots  of  folks  who 
still  thought  there  was  something  peculiar 
about  him.  And  so  there  was  lots  of  talk. 
Even  Oscar  Ferguson  began  working  up  a 
theory  about  him.  But  then  Oscar  could  give 
you  a  theory  about  anybody  on  earth  if  he 
just  took  a  notion  to  do  it. 

The  crowd  that  always  hung  around  the 
depot  to  see  the  trains  come  in  got  as  anxious 
as  I  was  to  see  if  the  Emigger  got  off  any  of 
the  trains  from  Cincinnati.  There  is  always 
the  same  lot  of  people  to  see  the  afternoon 
trains  arrive.  In  the  morning  there  are  not  so 
many,  but  in  the  afternoon  and  evening  there 

74 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

are  all  the  way  from  ten  to  fifteen  people 
there.  Old  Wash  Purdy  is  at  every  train  from 
seven  in  the  morning  to  nine  at  night.  He  al 
ways  stands  by  the  little  bay-window  where 
the  telegraph  operator  sits,  no  matter  whether 
it  is  a  train  that  will  stop  or  a  fast  train.  The 
mail  clerks  on  the  expresses  have  tried  for  five 
years  to  hit  him  with  a  mail -sack,  but  they 
have  always  missed  him.  Once  one  of  the 
mail-sacks  came  so  close  to  him  that  it  knocked 
his  cane  out  of  his  hand,  and  he  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  President  about  it.  He  has  the  answer 
he  got.  It  is  all  full  of  creases  and  torn  places 
from  being  folded  and  unfolded  so  often  to 
show  it.  Wash  will  tell  all  about  how  he  was 
standing  by  the  operator's  window  when  the 
up  express  came  whizzing  along. 

"I  was  standing  right  there,"  he  will  say, 
"right  where  I've  stood  for  going  on  fifteen 
years,  or  ever  since  they  built  the  depot,  and  I 
was  attending  to  my  business,  as  I've  got  a 
right  to  do,  and  I  seen  this  here  lop-eared 
feller  named  Jimison,  that  thinks  he's  away  up 
in  the  government  just  because  Congressman 
Morey  got  him  a  place  in  the  mail  service — I 
seen  him  a-hanging  his  head  out  o'  the  mail- 
car  and  sighting  at  me.  That  scoundrel  has 
tried  to  kill  me  with  that  mail-sack  for  five 
years,  and  has  put  all  the  rest  of  the  dod- 

75 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

gasted  office-holdin'  leeches  that's  fattening 
off  o'  the  country's  money  up  to  the  same 
trick.  I  seen  him  a-hangin'  his  dad  gummed 
lop-eared  head  out  o'  that  mail-car  and  swing- 
in'  the  mail -sack  back  an'  forth  and  gettin' 
sight  on  me,  an'  I  says  to  myself,  says  I: 
'Well,  Mister  Jimison,  I'll  just  stand  my 
ground  an'  see  what  you'll  do  with  your  be- 
dinged  old  mail -sack.  I  fit  in  the  war,  an' 
I'm  not  goin'  to  turn  tail  an'  run  for  a  lazy, 
lop-eared  galoot  that  'ain't  got  enough  mother- 
wit  to  earn  his  livin'  workin'  on  the  ground 
like  ordinary  law-abidin'  citizens  has  to.'  An' 
just  then  the  engine  went  a-whoopin'  past,  an' 
fust  thing  I  knew,  my  cane  that  I've  carried 
sence  I  cut  it  on  a  side-hill  after  the  battle  of 
Gettysburg  was  knocked  out  o'  my  hand  an' 
broke  to  flinders  against  the  side  o'  the  depot, 
an'  that  there  mail-sack  whanged  through  the 
air  an'  come  slammin'  against  the  bay -window 
an'  scared  that  telegraph  feller  inside  so  bad 
he  dropped  the  rope  that  holds  the  signal- 
block.  But  I  stood  my  ground,  an'  I  shook 
my  fist  at  the  bedanged  train  where  I  could 
see  that  lop-eared  Jimison  feller  still  hangin' 
out  an'  grinnin'  back  at  me.  An'  then,  soon 
as  I  got  home,  I  set  down  an'  I  wrote  to  the 
President  o'  this  here  country,  an'  I  ast  him  if 
he  was  agoin'  to  allow  such  goin's  on.  An' 
76 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

'twasn't  a  week  afore  I  got  this  letter  from  his 
seckertary  say  in'  my  communication  had  been 
duly  received.  'Duly  received' — there  it  is, 
in  black  an'  white.  No  gettin'  around  that. 
An'  none  o'  them  high  an'  mighty  mail  clerks 
has  throwed  any  o'  their  dadbinged  mail-sacks 
at  me  sence  then.  I  guess  not!  It's  a  free 
country,  an'  if  they  did  it  again  there 'd  be 
some  political  excitement  hereabouts." 

Then  he  will  fold  his  letter  up  and  stamp  up 
beside  the  operator's  window,  and  whack  his 
cane  on  the  platform  as  if  he  was  daring  the 
whole  United  States  mail  to  come  and  fight 
him. 

Well,  the  Emigger  came  home,  but  he  didn't 
come  home  from  Cincinnati.  He  came  down 
the  line  from  the  other  direction.  He  walked 
into  the  office  about  eleven  in  the  morning, 
just  after  the  10.45  train  had  arrived.  I 
hadn't  been  to  it,  because  it  didn't  come  from 
Cincinnati. 

"Hello,  Colquhoun,"  Mr.  Bashford  said,  get 
ting  up  and  shaking  hands  with  him.  "  Have 
a  good  time?" 

"  I've  had  a  busy  time,  Bashford.  I've  been 
up  to —  Johnny,  you  take  the  key  to  the  box 
and  run  over  to  the  post-office  and  get  the 
mail." 

So  I  had  to  go,  although  I  knew  he  was  go- 
77 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

ing  to  tell  all  about  his  trip.  When  I  got  back 
—I  had  had  to  wait  until  the  10.45  ma^  was 
distributed — the  Emigger  and  Mr.  Bashford 
were  talking  about  business,  and  nothing  was 
said  about  Annie  Davis.  All  that  afternoon 
people  kept  coming  into  the  office  and  asking 
me  what  the  Emigger  had  found  out.  Squire 
Miller  came  in,  playing  his  usual  tune  on  a 
locust  leaf,  and  said: 

"Did  that  feller  find  Annie?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Squire.  I  didn't  know  he 
was  looking  for  her,"  I  said. 

"Huh!     Bet  you  know  all  about  it." 

"I  don't  know,  honestly." 

"Huh!     You're  pretty  deep,  you  think." 

Mr.  Bashford  happened  to  come  in  just  then, 
and  noticed  that  the  Squire  was  acting  rather 
huffy,  so  he  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"This  here  Thompson  boy  says  he  don't 
know  whether  or  not  your  partner  found  Annie 
Davis." 

"Why,  who  said  he  was  hunting  her?" 

"  Nobody.  But  o'  course  there  was  a  rumor 
that  he'd  gone  to  find  her." 

"If  you'll  watch  the  freight  office  for  a  few 
days  you'll  see  a  lot  of  type  and  paper  shipped 
to  us.  He  bought  that  while  he  was  away, 
Squire." 

"Well,  it's  all  right,  Bashford.  But  Oscar 
78 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Ferguson  was  talking  as  if  Colquhoun  had  been 
following  a  hint  o'  his." 

"Well,  while  he  was  away  he  bought  this 
stock  we  have  been  needing.  There  isn't  any 
thing  mysterious  about  that,  is  there?" 

"Not  a  bit.     Not  a  bit." 

And  the  Squire  went  out,  tootling  on  his 
locust  leaf. 

Mr.  Bashford  came  back  to  the  case  where  I 
was  working,  and  looked  at  me  more  seriously 
than  he  ever  did  before. 

"Johnny,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  know?" 

"Nothing,"  I  answered. 

"That's  right.  You'll  get  a  bigger  reputa 
tion  for  smartness  if  you  know  nothing  and 
acknowledge  it." 

Oscar  came  in,  looking  excited,  just  before 
we  closed  up  that  evening.  I  was  there  alone. 

"  He's  back,  isn't  he  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  sort  of  short,  because  I  was 
tired  of  that  kind  of  questions. 

"Did  he  find  her?" 

"I  don't  know  any  more  about  it  than  you 
do." 

"Johnny,  there's  something  strange  about 
this.  I'll  discover  the  mystery  before  long. 
Mark  my  words,  Mr.  Colquhoun— 

"What  about  him?"  the  Emigger  asked, 
stepping  into  the  doorway. 

79 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Oscar  grinned  and  looked  flustered. 

"Oscar,"  the  Emigger  went  on,  "listen  to 
me  a  minute.  You're  a  smart  boy — a  mighty 
smart  boy,  and  you've  done  me  lots  of  favors. 
But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  smart  boy  get 
ting  too  sharp  and  finding  out  things  that  don't 
exist.  Understand  that?" 

"I  guess  so,"  Oscar  replied. 

"Well,  on  the  other  hand,  he  can  find  out 
things  that  will  do  him  a  lot  of  good.  Now, 
you  made  a  mistake  no  real  detective  would 
make.  You  told  first  about  seeing  Annie 
Davis,  and  then  you  jumped  at  a  conclusion 
and  told  that  I  had  gone  to  bring  her  home.  I 
didn't  bring  her  home,  and  therefore  your 
reputation  as  a  detective  is  hurt  a  good  deal 
here.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  to 
keep  still  hereafter  till  you  know  what  you  are 
talking  about?" 

"I  expect  it  would." 

"  If  anybody  asks  you  why  I  went  away,  you 
tell  them  that  I  bought  some  stuff  for  the  office, 
and  that's  all  you  know.  I  don't  want  you  to 
mix  me  up  in  your  cases  the  way  you  do." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Colquhoun.  I'll  do  that. 
But  I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that  I've  found 
another  clew  about  your  horse." 

The  Emigger  laughed  a  little,  and  then  pat 
ted  Oscar  on  the  shoulder  and  said : 
80 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Go  ahead,  boy.  Trail  that  horse  to  the 
end  of  the  world,  but  keep  it  dark  until  you 
are  sure  you've  got  the  whole  thing  clear." 

I  could  see  that  the  Emigger  was  angry 
about  the  way  Oscar  had  talked.  That's  the 
trouble  with  Oscar.  Mr.  Bashford  says  he  will 
be  all  right  when  he  learns  to  think  even  once 
before  he  talks,  instead  of  doing  his  talking 
first  and  his  thinking  later  on.  The  Emigger 
went  out,  and  Oscar  walked  home  with  me. 
He  didn't  say  much  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
he  growled: 

"He  needn't  have  been  so  hot  about  it.  If 
he  knew  I'd  found  out  who  stole  his  horse  he 
would  talk  a  good  deal  nicer  to  me." 

"Have  you  found  his  horse?"  I  asked,  all 
excitement. 

' '  No,  but  I  'm  on  the  trail  of  the  man  that 
took  it.  Johnny,  once  there  was  a  great 
French  detective  named  Lecocq,  and  he  made 
a  rule  for  detecting  that  was  always  to  suspect 
the  least  likely  person  to  have  committed  the 
crime.  Who  is  the  least  likely  person  in  town 
to  have  stolen  that  horse?" 

I  thought  for  a  good  while,  and  finally  I 
said,  "You." 

"Aw,  get  out!  Detectives  don't  steal.  I'll 
tell  you  who  the  finger  of  suspicion  points  at, 
if  you'll  promise  hope  to  die  and  cross  your 

81 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

heart  that  you'll  never  breathe  it  to  a  living 
soul." 

I  crossed  my  heart  and  hoped  to  die  that 
minute  if  I'd  give  it  away,  and  then  Oscar 
whispered : 

"Preacher  Milton." 

Then  he  stepped  back  about  two  feet  and 
watched  me  to  see  how  I  took  it.  He  must 
have  been  satisfied,  for  I  had  to  clap  my  hand 
over  my  mouth  to  keep  from  yelling  Preacher 
Milton's  name  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  Why, 
old  Dr.  Milton  has  been  our  preacher  for 
years  and  years.  He  baptized  me  and  nearly 
all  the  boys  in  town,  and  he  preaches  almost 
all  the  funerals  and  marries  about  everybody 
that  gets  married.  He  is  the  nicest  old  white- 
haired  man  you  ever  saw,  and  the  very  idea 
that  he  would  steal  a  horse!  It  was  as  bad  as 
if  Oscar  had  accused  me  of  setting  fire  to  a 
house. 

"You're  crazy,  Oscar,"  I  said. 

"You  just  wait.  And  remember,  you  prom 
ised  me  on  your  honor  never  to  breathe  it  to  a 
living  soul.  To-morrow  I'll  show  you  the 
proofs.  Now,  Johnny,  muni's  the  word.  I'll 
convince  you — I'll  make  you  say  I'm  right." 

I  was  so  worked  up  over  what  Oscar  had 
said  tha.t  I  could  hardly  eat  any  supper.  Ma 
blamed  it  on  my  excitement  over  the  Emigger 
82 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

getting  back,  and  tried  to  find  out  if  he  had 
seen  Annie  Davis,  and  at  last  I  asked  her  why 
everybody  seemed  to  think  that  was  why  he 
went  away.  She  just  smiled  sort  of  funny  at 
pa,  and  then  I  asked : 

"  But  why  would  he  want  to  find  her?" 
And   then   she   laughed   at   me,  and   said  I 
ought  to  keep  my  eyes  open  if  I  was  going  to 
be  a  newspaper  man.     I  couldn't  understand  it. 


X 


WHEN  the  Emigger  came  to  the  office  next 
morning  Mr.  Bashford  was  out  getting 
local  advertisements  and  I  was  alone.  The 
Emigger  came  back  to  me  and  said : 

"Johnny,  I  expect  you  think  I'm  not  treat 
ing  you  right." 

"What  makes  you  think  that,  Mr.  Colqu- 
houn?"  I  asked. 

"About  my  trip.  Now  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
yesterday  about  it,  because  you  and  I  have  al 
ways  been  good  friends,  and  I  feel  that  you 
have  an  interest  in  me,  but  I  didn't  get  a 
chance  to  talk  with  you.  I  came  back  to  the 
office  intending  to  tell  you  before  you  went 
home,  but  Oscar  was  here,  and  that  prevented 
my  talking  to  you  as  I  wanted  to.  I  don't 
need  to  ask  you  to  say  nothing  of  what  I  tell 
you.  I  did  go  to  the  place  where  Oscar  found 
Annie  Davis,  but  she  was  not  there  any  more. 
She  had  gone  away  the  same  day  Oscar  was 
there.  So  I  had  to  find  the  trail,  as  Oscar 
would  say.  I  located  her  finally,  north  of 

84 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

here.  She  went  through  here  on  a  train  the 
same  night  that  Oscar  came  home." 

"And  she  is  coming  back?" 

"Not  right  away.  She  is  ashamed  of  her 
self  for  running  away  as  she  did,  and  won't 
come  home  now.  But  she  is  all  right,  and  will 
be  back  some  day,  I  am  sure.  What  we  should 
all  do  is  to  hush  up  all  the  talk  about  her 
so  that  she  will  feel  that  she  can  come  home 
again  without  being  the  subject  of  any  more 
discussion." 

I  wouldn't  have  breathed  a  word  of  it  after 
that — not  even  if  wild  horses  tried  to  tear  it 
from  me.  Some  way  it  made  me  feel  a  foot 
taller  to  be  taken  into  the  Emigger's  confi 
dence  in  that  way.  I  knew  then  that  he  con 
sidered  me  about  his  best  friend  in  town,  and 
I  determined  to  stick  to  him  closer  than  ever 
before. 

Flora  Beavers  came  to  the  office  that  day 
to  give  us  some  new  subscribers  she  had  got 
for  the  Chronicle.  I  haven't  said  very  much 
about  Flora  for  a  good  while,  but  that  has 
been  because  during  most  of  the  things  I  have 
been  telling  of  she  had  been  away  visiting,  and 
when  she  got  home  she  went  right  to  work 
soliciting  subscriptions  for  different  things, 
and  was  not  about  home  much.  She  said  she 
had  to  make  up  for  the  money  she  had  spent 

85 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

on  her  visiting.  Mr.  Bashford  got  her  to  get 
subscribers  for  the  Chronicle,  and  he  had  been 
out  to  her  house  a  good  deal  to  talk  with  her 
about  what  they  were  doing  since  she  got 
home. 

When  she  came  in  the  Emigger  got  up  and 
bowed,  and  Mr.  Bashford  got  up  and  bowed, 
too. 

"Fifteen  new  subscribers  for  the  Chronicle, 
Mr.  Bashford,"  Miss  Beavers  said,  smiling  at 
him.  When  Miss  Beavers  smiles  it  is  one  of  the 
best  sights  you  ever  saw.  It  isn't  one  of  those 
smiles  that  look  as  if  they  were  made  by  twist 
ing  the  mouth  up  at  the  corners.  It  just 
smiles  of  itself,  and  it  makes  you  feel  that  she 
is  in  earnest  about  it,  that  she  smiles  because 
she  is  glad  to  see  you  and  glad  you  are  glad 
to  see  her. 

"Fifteen?"  said  the  Emigger,  handing  her 
a  chair.  "That  is  splendid!  If  you  keep  this 
work  up  we  will  have  to  put  in  a  premium  de 
partment,  so  you  can  get  dish-pans  or  pictures 
or  chairs." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Colquhoun,  I've  got  everything  I 
need  about  the  house  now." 

"Except  a  husband,"  the  Emigger  said, 
looking  sly.  "I  believe  we  will  offer  a  hus 
band  to  the  woman  getting  us  the  biggest  list 
of  subscribers.  That  ought  to  set  every  un- 
86 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

married  woman  in  the  country  to  work  for 
us." 

"  It  would  depend  on  who  the  premium  was," 
Miss  Beavers  said,  smiling  again,  but  this 
time  at  Mr.  Bashford. 

"I'd  offer  the  only  man  we  could  spare — 
Bashford." 

"  Better  offer  a  parlor  lamp.  That  would  be 
as  good  as  me,"  Mr.  Bashford  said.  "  It  would 
smoke  and  go  out  nights,  too." 

"How  ridiculous!"  Miss  Beavers  cried. 

Then  she  gathered  up  her  things  and  said 
she  must  be  going.  Both  the  men  went  to 
the  door  with  her,  and  told  her  to  come  in 
often — "and  bring  fifteen  new  subscribers 
with  you,"  the  Emiggcr  said. 

"Or  come  and  tell  us  why  you  can't  get 
them,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

Then  they  came  back  and  sat  down  at  their 
tables,  and  the  Emigger  kept  looking  up  from 
his  work  and  chuckling,  but  Mr.  Bashford 
wrote  busily.  Finally  the  Emigger  said: 

"  Eli,  you're  a  gay  old  dog." 

When  Oscar  came  in  that  day  he  had  a  big 
bundle  under  his  arm.  He  asked  me  if  I  was 
going  to  be  by  myself  for  a  while,  and  I  said 
I  thought  so,  for  Mr.  Bashford  and  the  Emigger 
didn't  usually  get  back  for  an  hour  or  so  after 
they  started  out  in  the  afternoon.  Oscar  then 

87 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

put  down  his  bundle  and  unwrapped  it.  The 
first  thing  he  took  out  was  that  old  plaster 
cast  of  a  footprint  he  had  made  the  morning 
after  the  Emigger's  horse  was  stolen. 

"The  first  clew,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "Now 
for  the  connecting  link." 

He  held  up  an  old  shoe.  He  looked  at  me 
as  if  he  expected  me  to  faint  or  to  shout,  or 
do  something  like  that,  but  I  just  looked  at 
him  and  then  at  the  shoe  and  told  him  to 
go  on. 

"You  don't  understand  yet?"  he  asked. 
"Then  watch.  I  take  the  shoe  thus;  I  place 
it  on  the  plaster  cast.  It  fits  perfectly,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,  it  does.     But  what  then?" 

"Oh,  nothing  then.  Nothing!  Of  course, 
all  this  can't  mean  anything.  Do  you  have 
to  have  a  brick  house  fall  on  you?" 

"No.     But  what  are  you  driving  at?" 

"Whose  shoe  is  this?" 

He  held  the  shoe  up  in  front  of  my  eyes, 
and  glared  at  me  as  if  he  thought  I  ought  to 
know  the  shoe. 

"It  isn't  mine,"  I  said,  feeling  as  if  he  was 
playing  a  joke  on  me. 

"Certainly  it  isn't.  I'll  tell  you  whose  it  is. 
It  is  Preacher  Milton's!" 

Then  he  told  me  how  he  had  worked  out  his 
88 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

theory  that  fastened  the  horse  -  stealing  on 
Dr.  Milton.  According  to  that  French  de 
tective's  theory  of  suspecting  the  most  in 
nocent  person,  it  could  be  nobody  else  than 
Dr.  Milton.  And  as  Oscar  had  the  footprint 
he  had  to  find  if  Dr.  Milton's  shoe  would 
fit  it.  But  how  to  get  the  shoe  was  the  prob 
lem.  Oscar  said  that  all  great  detectives  re 
sorted  to  all  sorts  of  cunning  schemes  to  work 
out  their  cases,  and  finally  he  had  gone  to 
Milton's  house  and  pretended  to  be  looking 
for  a  ball  he  had  thrown  over  into  their  back 
yard,  and  he  had  found  this  old  shoe  in  a  pile 
of  rubbish,  just  as  he  had  expected  he  would. 
To  make  sure  that  it  belonged  to  Dr.  Milton 
he  had  asked  Mrs.  Milton  if  it  was  one  that 
any  of  them  had  mislaid,  and  she  had  told  him 
that  it  was  one  of  her  husband's  old  ones  that 
she  had  thrown  away  as  it  was  almost  worn 
out. 

"I  hated  to  convict  her  husband  on  her 
evidence,"  Oscar  said;  "but  you  know  a  detec 
tive  has  to  steel  his  heart  against  all  senti 
ment.  And  there  you  are!" 

"But  that  isn't  finding  the  horse,"  I  ob 
jected.  I  still  didn't  believe  Dr.  Milton  was 
guilty.  It  didn't  seem  at  all  like  him,  to  me. 

"No,"  Oscar  said,  "but  I'm  going  to  find 
the  horse.  Don't  you  forget  that." 

7  89 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"I  know  how  to  go  where  it  is." 

"If  you  know,  why  don't  you  go?" 

"  Because  I've  got  to  bide  my  time.  Preach 
er  Milton  will  have  to  lead  me  there." 

I  laughed.     It  seemed  so  ridiculous  to  me. 

"  But  he'll  do  it,"  Oscar  said,  in  dead  earnest. 
"Look  here,  Johnny,  do  you  know  that  he  got 
a  mysterious  letter  out  of  the  post-office  the 
other  day,  while  Mr.  Colquhoun  was  away? 
And  do  you  know  that  that  same  evening  he 
hired  a  horse  and  buggy  at  the  livery-stable 
and  drove  north  and  didn't  get  back  until 
after  ten  o'clock?" 

"Ho,  nonsense!  He  often  has  to  go  out 
into  the  country  to  weddings  and  suppers, 
and  to  see  sick  people  that  want  him  to  pray." 

"But  look  here,  why  should  he  get  this  let 
ter  while  Mr.  Colquhoun  was  away,  and  why 
should  he  meet  Mr.  Colquhoun  on  the  street 
yesterday  afternoon  and  pretend  to  be  so 
glad  to  see  him,  and  walk  off  down  street  with 
him,  talking  real  confidential  and  nodding  his 
head?" 

"Why,  they  often  talk  together.  They  like 
each  other." 

"Huh!  That  was  just  to  throw  Colquhoun 
off  the  track.  And  why  should  those  two  men 
meet  Mr.  Davis  on  the  street  and  stop  him  and 

90 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

shake  hands  with  him,  and  then  all  three  of 
them  talk  together?" 

"Maybe  it  was  about  An — "  I  began,  and 
then  thought  of  my  promise.  "About  some 
church  work,"  I  finished.  Oscar  was  so  in 
terested  in  what  he  was  thinking  about,  though, 
that  he  didn't  notice  my  break. 

"No,  sir,  you  mark  my  words.  It's  my  be 
lief  that  that  horse  and  Annie  Davis  are  both 
mixed  up  some  way.  I  don't  know  why,  but 
I  feel  it  in  my  bones,"  Oscar  said,  packing  up 
his  plaster  cast  and  the  shoe  as  he  talked. 
"I'm  going  to  keep  my  eye  on  Preacher  Milton, 
Johnny,  and  some  of  these  times  when  he 
drives  out  of  town,  I'm  going  to  follow  him. 
He  always  drives  the  pokiest  old  horse  he  can 
get,  so  it  won't  be  hard  to  keep  up  with  him." 

Of  course,  I  felt  sure  that  Oscar  was  talking 
foolishness.  But  then  there  was  the  plaster 
footprint,  and  Dr.  Milton's  shoe  did  fit  it  ex 
actly.  I  didn't  think  much  of  Oscar's  theory 
about  why  he  drove  out  of  town,  because  he 
was  always  doing  that  every  once  in  a  while, 
as  I  said  to  Oscar.  Still,  when  you  came  to 
think  of  it,  how  did  it  happen  that  his  shoe  fit 
the  footprint  ?  I  didn't  like  to  suspect  Dr. 
Milton.  Why,  one  time  when  I  was  sick  with 
malaria  he  had  come  to  see  me,  and  I  was 
awful  afraid  he  would  ask  me  if  I  wanted  him 

91 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

to  pray  for  me  or  talk  about  my  soul,  or  some 
thing  like  that,  but  he  didn't.  He  just  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed  and  told  me  little  stories 
that  were  kind  of  funny,  and  said  how  all  the 
other  boys  were  missing  me  and  I  must  hurry 
up  and  get  well.  Anyhow,  Oscar  couldn't  make 
me  believe  but  what  there  was  a  lot  of  good  in 
him,  at  any  rate. 


XI 


WHERE'S  your  bicycle  ?"  Oscar  asked  me 
when  I  went  over  to  his  house  Monday 
evening  after  supper. 

"Bicycle?"  I  said. 

"  Yes.  Think  we're  going  to  follow  our  man 
on  foot,  with  him  driving  a  horse  ?  Oh,  you'd 
certainly  make  a  dandy  detective,  Johnny! 
Chase  home  and  get  it  right  away." 

I  knew  right  away  he  was  talking  about  fol 
lowing  Preacher  Milton,  and  though  I  didn't 
take  much  stock  in  his  theory,  I  wanted  to  go 
along,  of  course,  and  see  what  happened.  So 
I  went  back  home  and  got  my  wheel  and  rode 
down  to  Oscar's  again.  I  was  ready  to  start 
at  once,  but  he  sat  down  and  drew  a  map  of 
the  country  north  of  town,  and  then  figured  it 
all  out  this  way: 

"He  always  drives  straight  north.  When 
he  strikes  the  river  road  he  has  to  turn  either 
east  or  west.  If  he  turns  west  he  can't  turn 
off  again  for  two  miles,  unless  he  turns  into 
some  lane.  If  he  goes  east  he  can  make  three 

93 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

turns  within  a  mile.  It  won't  do  for  us  to  fol 
low  him  right  out  of  town,  but  on  our  wheels 
we  can  beat  him  to  the  river  road  even  if  we 
have  to  ride  a  mile  farther  than  he  drives,  by 
going  out  the  Sidney  pike  to  the  Millcreek 
school-house,  then  cutting  in  on  the  old  mud 
road,  which  is  dry  and  smooth  now,  to  the 
river  road.  Then  one  of  us  can  stop  there  to 
see  if  he  passes,  and  the  other  post  himself 
half  a  mile  east  of  the  pike  on  the  river  road." 

"Why  can't  wre  both  wait  where  the  pike 
joins  the  river  road?"  I  asked,  because  I 
didn't  like  to  wait  around  all  by  myself  after 
dark  at  either  of  the  places  Oscar  spoke  of. 

"Well,  I  suppose  we  can." 

"Come  on  then,  Oscar,  let's  get  started." 

"Now  you  are  showing  your  smoothness, 
aren't  you?  Want  to  start  right  out  now. 
Might  as  well  tell  everybody  in  town  what  we 
are  up  to,  or  like  as  not  throw  Preacher  Milton 
into  alarm  and  keep  him  from  going.  The 
thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  go  down- town  and  loaf 
around  a  while,  and  keep  our  eyes  peeled  to 
see  when  he  starts,  then  get  away  as  quietly 
as  we  can." 

I  saw  right  off  that  Oscar's  plan  was  the 

wisest,  so  we  got  on  our  wheels  and  rode  down 

street,  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  barber-shop, 

where  there  was   a   crowd  of  the  fellows   as 

94 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

usual.  Inside,  Chunkey  Collins  was  playing 
the  guitar.  Chunkey  can  certainly  make  that 
old  box  talk.  He  has  a  cappy  diastro  (I  never 
can  learn  how  to  spell  that  thing,  but  if  you 
ask  for  it  by  that  name  you  will  get  it) — he 
has  a  cappy  diastro  that  he  clamps  on  just 
above  the  third  fret,  and  that  makes  it  sound 
a  good  deal  higher  without  any  danger  of 
breaking  the  strings  from  twisting  them  up  too 
much.  I  got  him  to  play  the  "Battle  of 
Sevastopol."  You  know  that  is  a  piece  that 
is  played  on  the  guitar  that  tells  all  about 
that  battle.  First,  there  is  sort  of  a  song,  like 
as  if  the  soldiers  were  singing  and  marching 
into  camp.  Then  the  music  gets  real  low  and 
dreamy  like — that  is  when  they  go  to  sleep. 
And  real  quick  there  is  a  bugle-call.  Chunkey 
twists  his  hand  pretty  near  double  sliding  it 
up  and  down  the  strings  to  make  them  sound 
awful  mournful  when  the  bugle  is  supposed  to 
blow,  and  then  right  away  he  swings  into  the 
battle,  and  he  plays  with  his  thumb  and  fingers 
both  and  imitates  the  cannons  with  the  heel  of 
his  hand  on  the  box  itself.  And  when  he  fin 
ishes  he  wipes  the  sweat  off  his  forehead  with 
his  hand,  and  everybody  tells  him  that  surely 
is  fine  work,  but  he  just  smiles  and  says  he 
isn't  in  practice  any  more. 

He  was  just  finishing  the  "  Battle  of  Sevasto- 
95 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

pol"  when  Oscar  poked  me  in  the  side,  and 
when  I  looked  around  he  jerked  his  head  for 
me  to  follow  him.  I  looked  up  the  street,  and 
there  was  Dr.  Milton  driving  off  in  a  phaeton 
buggy  pulled  by  a  joggy  old  horse.  Dr.  Mil 
ton  was  sitting  kind  of  bent  over  like  he  al 
ways  is  when  he  is  driving,  and  the  lines  were 
hanging  loose  in  his  hands.  I  guess  the  horse 
must  have  known  who  was  driving  it,  for  it 
was  like  the  one  Mr.  Bashford  tells  about  that 
could  trot  all  day  in  the  shade  of  one  tree. 
Oscar  and  I  edged  away  from  the  fellows  and 
hopped  on  our  wheels  and  rode  south  to  the 
railroad,  then  turned  west  and  came  around  a 
couple  of  blocks,  then  struck  the  Sidney  pike 
and  let  ourselves  out.  It  was  a  mighty  pretty 
evening.  The  sun  was  just  going  down,  and 
all  the  sky  was  red,  with  gold  and  silver  streaks 
through  it.  Everything  was  so  peaceful  that 
it  was  hard  for  me  to  realize  that  we  were  riding 
away  on  a  task  of  great  importance,  no  doubt. 
At  least  Oscar  thought  it  was. 

We  struck  the  old  mud  road  at  the  Millcreek 
school-house,  and  from  there  on  we  had  a 
pretty  lonesome  trip  to  the  river  road,  because 
that  part  of  our  trip  was  through  a  very  quiet 
neighborhood,  and  it  was  beginning  to  get 
dark.  Over  in  the  woods  at  the  side  of  the 
road  it  was  already  real  dark.  We  rode  pretty 

96 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

fast  along  there.  We  turned  into  the  river 
road,  and  in  no  time  were  at  the  place  where 
the  pike  meets  it.  Dr.  Milton  wasn't  yet  in 
sight.  From  where  we  were  we  could  see 
about  a  mile  up  the  pike,  it  being  a  long  hill 
down  to  the  river  road.  By  this  time  it  was 
so  near  dark  that  we  could  just  have  made  out 
a  horse  and  buggy  if  one  had  been  in  sight. 

We  climbed  over  the  fence,  leaving  our 
bicycles  lying  in  the  grass,  and  sat  down  on  a 
log  to  wait.  Back  of  us  was  the  river.  We 
were  in  a  little  woods  lot.  Were  you  ever  in  a 
woods  near  a  river,  all  by  yourself,  or  just  with 
one  other  fellow,  at  night?  If  you  are  at  all 
scary,  it  is  apt  to  be  a  creepy  place.  The  trees 
seem  to  whisper  among  themselves,  and  the 
river  keeps  a-mumbling  and  a-grumbling  as  if 
it  wanted  to  know  why  you  were  fooling 
around  when  it  wanted  to  go  to  sleep.  And  if 
you  look  over  your  shoulder  you  will  see  an 
animal  or  a  man  standing  about  twenty  feet 
away  from  you,  but  it  turns  out  to  be  a  stump 
or  a  tree  if  you  look  long  enough.  I  was  be 
ginning  to  think  how  nice  it  was  in  town, 
where  all  the  street-lamps  would  be  lit  by  this 
time,  when  Oscar  whispered  so  quick  that  I 
jumped  to  my  feet  and  then  sat  down  again. 
He  said: 

"Here  he  comes!" 

97 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Sure  enough,  I  could  hear  that  old  horse 
coming,  clump,  clump,  clump,  along  the  pike. 
Pretty  soon  I  could  see  it  like  a  moving  shadow, 
and  as  it  kept  drawing  nearer  I  could  see  the 
shape  of  the  buggy,  and  then  it  slowed  up  to 
turn  into  the  river  road.  I  thought  sure  it 
would  go  west,  but  it  turned  east  and  went, 
clump,  clump,  and  rattle,  rattle,  on. 

Oscar  and  I  were  over  the  fence  in  a  minute, 
and  I  struck  a  match  and  lit  my  bicycle  lan 
tern.  He  did  the  same  for  his,  then  took  out 
a  couple  of  pieces  of  black  cloth  from  his 
pocket  and  tied  them  over  the  lanterns. 

"What's  that  for?"  I  asked. 

"Suppose  I'm  going  to  have  him  look  back 
and  see  our  two  lights  bobbing  along  on  his 
trail?" 

"Then  let's  put  out  the  lights." 

"Not  on  your  life.  We'll  need  them  later 
on,  and  maybe  we  won't  have  time  then  to 
stop  to  light  them." 

We  hopped  on  the  wheels  and  rolled  along 
after  the  buggy.  Now  I  understood  why 
Oscar  had  wanted  the  bicycles.  If  we  had 
tried  to  follow  on  foot  we  would  have  been 
played  out  already,  no  doubt,  and,  anyway,  if 
we  had  tried  to  run  along  after  the  buggy  the 
chances  were  we  would  have  been  heard.  But 
the  bicycles  ran  through  the  dust  without 

98 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

making  the  least  bit  of  noise.  Oscar  had 
tightened  up  the  chains  and  all  the  nuts,  so 
that  nothing  rattled.  It  was  just  light  enough, 
sort  of  half  dark,  so  that  we  could  keep  the 
buggy  in  sight  and  watch  out  for  rocks  or 
bumps  in  the  road.  Dr.  Milton  seemed  to  be 
taking  his  time  about  his  driving,  and  we  did 
not  have  to  pedal  very  hard  at  all  to  keep  be 
hind  him. 

"I  wonder  who  else  that  is  in  the  buggy?" 
Oscar  said  to  me  after  we  got  fairly  started. 

"Who  else?     I  didn't  see  anybody  else." 

' '  There  were  two  people  in  that  buggy. ' ' 

"Two?" 

"Sure.     Didn't  you  see  them?" 

"Why,  I  didn't  think  to—" 

"  I  might  have  known  you  wouldn't  think  to 
look."  Oscar  sniffed  in  disgust  with  me,  and 
I  felt  ashamed  of  myself,  so  I  couldn't  think 
of  anything  to  say  in  the  way  of  an  excuse. 

We  kept  along-  for  a  mile  or  two  this  way, 
and  then  the  buggy  turned  north  again,  taking 
the  road  that  follows  the  river  for  a  long 
ways. 

"Where  can  he  be  going?"  I  asked  Oscar. 

"  I'll  never  tell  yqu  till  we  get  there,  but  you 
bet  I'll  see  where  he  goes." 

"The  only  town  up  this  way  is  Freedom, 
and  that  is  away  off  from  this  road.  He  ought 

99 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

to  have  taken  the  other  turn  if  he  is  going 
there." 

"He's  not  going  there.  Look  out  for  that 
stick!" 

But  it  was  too  late,  and  my  front  wheel 
struck  the  stick  and  I  took  a  tumble.  Oscar 
had  stopped  and  was  back  beside  me  as  soon 
as  I  was  up.  My  lantern  hadn't  gone  out,  and 
the  wheel  wasn't  hurt,  but  I  had  bruised  my 
knee  a  little. 

"Keep  your  eyes  open,  Johnny.  It  won't 
do  to  be  crippled  on  this — listen!" 

We  both  kept  still.  From  behind  us  we 
could  hear  the  sound  of  another  horse  and 
buggy.  It  was  jogging  along  at  a  pretty  good 
clip. 

"This  is  mysterious,"  Oscar  said,  getting  on 
his  wheel  again. 

I  mounted  and  rode  up  beside  him,  and  said 
I  supposed  it  was  just  some  farmer  driving  to 
a  party. 

"There  aren't  enough  farmers  along  this 
road  to  be  having  a  party  to-night.  There  are 
only  three  houses  in  the  next  five  miles.  That 
buggy  back  of  us  has  something  to  do  with  the 
one  in  front  of  us.  We  must  now  watch  that 
neither  one  of  them  detects  us." 

It  was  ticklish  work  after  that  for  a  while. 
First  the  front  buggy  would  seem  to  drop  back 
100 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

and  we  would  have  to  slow  up  and  let  it  get  a 
lead,  and  by  that  time  the  other  rig  would  be 
rattling  up  to  us  and  we  would  have  to  spurt 
almost  to  the  front  one.  It  was  getting  darker 
and  darker,  and  the  road  was  getting  rougher 
and  rougher.  Two  or  three  times  I  almost 
rode  into  the  ditch,  after  striking  something 
and  wabbling  to  get  my  balance  again,  but 
Oscar  never  had  any  trouble  at  all.  He  didn't 
appear  to  give  any  attention  to  the  wheel  or 
the  road.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  the  buggy  in 
front  and  his  ears  open  for  the  one  behind. 
Finally  the  front  buggy  went  out  of  sight  over 
a  hill,  and  when  we  had  topped  the  hill  and 
rode  down  about  a  half  a  mile  it  wasn't  in  view 
at  all.  Neither  was  the  other  one  following  us. 

"Gone  to  cover,"  Oscar  said,  getting  off  and 
turning  around  and  looking  back  the  way  we 
had  come. 

"We  passed  a  lane  just  this  side  of  the  top 
of  the  hill,"  I  told  him. 

"They  must  have  turned  in  there." 

We  rode  back  and  went  slowly  up  the  lane. 
Soon  we  came  upon  a  buggy  —  not  the  one 
that  had  been  in  front,  though.  But  ahead  of 
that  we  could  see  a  light,  and  all  at  once  the 
other  buggy  bobbed  across  in  front  of  the 
light.  We  were  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
the  house  where  the  light  was. 
101 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Get  off  here,"  Oscar  whispered.  We  stop 
ped  and  dragged  our  wheels  to  the  fence  and 
dropped  them  in  the  grass,  then  climbed 
through  the  fence  and  sneaked  along  it  to  an 
orchard.  It  was  no  trouble  to  crawl  through 
the  orchard  to  the  fence  between  it  and  the 
yard  about  the  house.  We  reached  there  just 
as  the  first  buggy  stopped  at  the  gate. 

"What's  that  noise  in  the  orchard?"  we 
heard  some  one  ask. 

"Pigs,  I  suppose,"  said  another  voice.  It 
was  Dr.  Milton  then,  but  I  didn't  recognize  the 
first  voice. 

The  second  buggy  came  to  a  stop  and  who 
ever  was  in  it  climbed  out.  One  of  them  was 
a  woman. 

"Well,  here  you  are,"  said  the  first  voice. 
I  knew  it  then.  It  was  the  Emigger. 

Oscar  reached  over  and  dug  me  in  the  side 
to  show  me  that  he  had  tumbled  to  who  it  was ; 
then  he  hitched  himself  carefully  over  to  where 
I  was  lying,  and  whispered: 

"Colquhoun  and  Preacher  Milton  in  the 
first  buggy.  Who  was  in  the  second?" 

"Don't  know." 

"Looks  mighty  funny.  They're  going  into 
the  house." 

Three  men  and  a  woman  walked  slowly  up 
the  path  to  the  front-door.  Oscar  and  I  rose 
102 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

up  on  our  knees  and  peeped  through  the  fence. 
The  Emigger  knocked  at  the  door  and  some 
one  opened  it  and  let  them  in  silently.  Then 
another  light  appeared  in  a  window  on  the 
first  floor.  I  turned  to  whisper  to  Oscar,  but 
he  had  slipped  through  the  fence  and  was 
wriggling  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  stomach 
up  to  the  house.  I  went  after  him.  We 
crawled  up  under  the  window  where  the  light 
was,  and  raised  up  as  cautiously  as  we  could. 
There  was  nobody  in  the  room  but  one  person. 
That  was  a  wroman  who  was  sitting  in  a  chair 
with  her  back  to  us.  Just  as  we  looked  in, 
the  door  of  the  room  opened  and  the  wToman 
we  had  seen  going  up  from  the  gate  to  the 
house  walked  into  the  light.  It  was  Mrs. 
Davis.  The  woman  in  the  chair  jumped  to 
her  feet  and  turned  so  that  we  saw  the  side 
of  her  face,  and  cried: 

"Mother!" 

Annie  Davis  fell  into  her  mother's  arms,  and 
the  Emigger  and  Dr.  Milton  and  Mr.  Davis 
came  into  the  room.  All  of  them  crowded  up 
to  the  two  women.  Annie  had  her  face  on 
her  mother's  shoulder  and  seemed  to  be  cry 
ing.  Mrs.  Davis  was  patting  her  shoulder  and 
stroking  her  hair  and  kissing  her,  and  tears 
were  running  down  her  cheeks.  Then  she 
looked  down  at  Annie's  face  and  said  some- 
103 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

thing  real  quick.  Annie's  eyes  were  shut  and 
her  face  was  white.  Another  woman  came 
into  the  room,  looked,  then  ran  right  out  and 
came  back  with  a  pitcher  of  wrater.  The 
Emigger  and  Mr.  Davis  took  Annie  and  laid 
her  on  the  sofa,  and  the  other  woman  poured 
a  little  water  on  her  face.  Pretty  soon  Annie 
gasped  and  opened  her  eyes  and  held  out  her 
arms,  and  her  father  and  mother  knelt  down 
beside  her  and  hugged  her  and  kissed  her, 
while  the  Emigger  and  Preacher  Milton  turned 
and  looked  the  other  way.  Oscar  and  I  slipped 
to  the  ground  and  crawled  back  to  the  orchard. 
Somehow  or  other  my  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
and  I  had  to  choke  something  down  in  my 
throat  before  I  could  say  to  Oscar: 

"How  do  you  suppose  she  got  here?" 

Oscar  didn't  make  any  reply,  and  I  looked 
at  him.  He  was  sitting  with  his  face  in  his 
hands  blubbering  like  a  baby.  So  I  didn't 
choke  the  next  something  down  in  my  throat. 
But  pretty  soon  we  got  over  it,  and  then  Oscar 
said: 

"I  know  whose  place  this  is  now." 

"Whose?" 

"It's  Milo  Davis's  farm.  He  is  Annie's 
uncle,  you  know.  I  might  have  guessed  this." 


XII 

WE  sat  there  by  the  orchard  fence  for  the 
longest  time.  Once  we  crept  back  to  the 
house  and  looked  in  at  the  window  again. 
The  folks  were  sitting  around  talking  earnestly. 
When  we  looked  in  the  Emigger  was  arguing 
something.  Mrs.  Davis  and  Annie  both  were 
dabbing  their  eyes  with  their  handkerchiefs. 
We  slipped  away  from  the  window  and  back 
to  the  orchard,  because  we  were  afraid  some 
one  would  come  out  and  see  us.  We  didn't 
know  what  they  might  do  to  us.  But  we  were 
bound  to  wait  there  and  find  out  what  they 
did.  We  talked  to  each  other  in  whispers. 
We  couldn't  understand  how  Annie  Davis  came 
there.  Oscar  figured  out  half  a  dozen  theories, 
but  none  of  them  explained  it.  A  theory  is  all 
right,  it  seems,  when  the  object  of  it  isn't 
within  reach.  You  can  send  out  theories  just 
like  a  spider  does  the  lines  of  its  web,  until 
they  strike  something;  but  when  you  try  to 
spin  a  web  to  connect  two  points  that  have  a 
brick  wall  between  them  you  fall  down, 
s  105 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Well,"  I  whispered,  "one  thing's  sure. 
She  came  here  from  that  place  near  Cincinnati 
where  you  saw  her." 

"I  know  that,"  Oscar  said.  "Anybody 
could  see  that.  But  the  point  is,  How  did  she 
get  here?" 

"I'm  not  a  detective,"  I  told  him,  kind  of 
sharp  like.  "I'm  just  a  newspaper  man — or 
will  be  some  day.  All  that  interests  me  is 
what  really  is,  not  what  might  have  been  be 
fore  it  was." 

Oscar  sniffed  and  picked  up  an  apple  that 
he  had  found  in  the  grass,  and  said  he  wished 
it  was  light  enough  for  him  to  see  whether  it 
was  wormy  or  not,  because  he  was  hungry. 
Finally  he  began  eating  it,  but  he  stopped 
pretty  soon.  I  asked  him  why  he  didn't  fin 
ish  it. 

"Make  too  much  noise  chewing,"  he  said, 
but  his  voice  sounded  sick.  " 'Fraid  they 
would  hear  me  if  they  came  out." 

The  door  of  the  house  opened  then,  and  we 
could  see  somebody  coming  out.  First  came 
Annie  and  her  mother  and  father,  then  the 
Emigger  and  Dr.  Milton.  The  Davises  all  got 
into  their  buggy  and  said  good-night  to  the 
Milo  Davises.  The  Emigger  and  Dr.  Milton 
told  them  good-night,  too,  and  then  both  bug 
gies  started  down  the  lane  towards  the  road. 
1 06 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Oscar  and  I  sneaked  through  the  orchard 
and  along  the  lane  fence  to  where  we  had 
left  our  wheels.  When  the  buggy  with  Annie 
and  her  folks  in  it  went  by  us,  we  could  hear 
her  sort  of  half  laughing  and  half  crying,  and 
her  mother  talking  soft  and  happy  to  her. 
We  waited  until  we  were  sure  both  buggies 
had  turned  into  the  road,  and  then  got  on  our 
wheels  and  followed  them.  Instead  of  going 
west,  though,  we  struck  off  east  and  found 
another  road  that  let  us  into  town  by  way  of 
the  pike  without  having  to  overtake  and  pass 
them.  We  took  the  black  cloths  off  our  lan 
terns  and  skimmed  along  as  fast  as  we  could 
push  the  pedals.  My  knee  had  got  stiffened 
while  we  were  lying  in  the  grass,  and  it  hurt 
like  fury  every  time  I  pushed  the  pedal,  but 
I  didn't  say  anything. 

Before  we  struck  the  pike  we  had  to  pass 
the  Baptist  graveyard.  When  we  were  getting 
near  to  it,  I  remembered  how  people  had  said 
that  John  Trimble's  ghost  haunted  it.  He 
used  to  be  marshal  of  the  town,  but  was  killed 
when  I  was  a  little  boy  by  a  man  he  was  trying 
to  arrest.  The  moon  was  just  coming  up, 
and  I  tell  you  the  tombstones  looked  scary. 
There  are  a  lot  of  weeping-willow-trees  scat 
tered  among  the  graves,  and  the  wind  made 
their  branches  swing  back  and  forth,  and  if 
107 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

you  didn't  know  there  wasn't  any  such  thing 
as  ghosts,  you  would  be  sure  that  something 
white  was  fluttering  back  and  forth  the  way 
the  shadows  went  in  and  out  on  the  monu 
ments.  We  had  just  got  past  the  graveyard 
when  we  heard  a  rustle  over  inside  of  it,  and 
something  yelled: 

"Hi  there!" 

I  forgot  all  about  my  sore  knee  and  every 
thing  else.  The  skin  on  my  head  felt  just 
like  your  hand  does  when  you  are  getting  an 
electric  shock.  My  breath  went  out  of  me  all 
at  once,  and  my  legs  were  as  flabby  and  weak 
as  if  they  were  rags.  But  I  kept  that  bicycle 
humming.  Oscar's  cap  fell  off.  He  never 
stopped  to  pick  it  up.  When  we  got  half  a 
mile  away  we  slowed  down  and  Oscar  began 
chuckling. 

"I  know  who  that  was,"  he  said. 

"John  Trimble?"  I  asked.  I  must  have 
been  cold,  for  my  teeth  were  chattering. 

"No.  I  just  happened  to  think  that  Andy 
Logan  is  watching  the  grave  of  old  Mr.  Wheel 
er.  You  know  the  doctors  didn't  know  exact 
ly  what  he  died  of,  and  his  folks  are  afraid  his 
grave  will  be  robbed." 

That  didn't  make  me  feel   any  better.     I 
was  glad  when  we  got  over  the  top  of  the  hill 
and  could  see  the  lights  in  town.     It  was  mid- 
108 


THE    GENTLEMAN   RAGMAN 

night  now,  at  least,  and  there  weren't  any 
lights  but  the  street-lamps,  and  everybody  is 
always  kicking  because  they  don't  give  enough 
light,  but  that  night  they  surely  did  look  cheer 
ful.  I  slowed  down  and  was  ready  to  get  off 
when  we  came  to  Oscar's  house,  but  he  whis 
pered  to  come  on.  So  I  kept  up  with  him. 
He  rode  on  down -town  and  then  to  where 
Annie  Davis 's  folks  lived.  There  he  got  off 
and  blew  out  his  bicycle  lamp,  and  told  me  to 
do  the  same. 

"Aren't  you  going  home?"  I  asked. 

"Johnny,  don't  you  suppose  our  next  move 
is  to  ascertain  whether  or  not  Annie  Davis 
conies  home?" 

I  kicked  about  this,  but  Oscar  had  his  way. 
We  ran  our  wheels  down  the  alley  and  sat 
there  on  some  stones.  Pretty  soon  we  both 
began  nodding  and  blinking.  It  was  deathly 
still  all  over  town.  Once  in  a  while  you  could 
hear  a  horse  kick  the  side  of  its  stall  or  a  dog 
bark;  and  then  after  a  while  we  heard  a  clock 
strike  one. 

Next  thing  I  knew  Oscar  was  shaking  me 
by  the  shoulder  and  whispering  that  they  were 
coming.  Just  one  buggy  came.  It  was  the 
Davises.  Annie  and  her  mother  got  out,  and 
her  father  went  to  the  front-door  with  them 
and  let  them  in.  Then  he  went  back  to  the 
109 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

buggy,  and  quick  as  a  flash  I  thought  of  what 
he  was  going  to  do.  He  was  going  to  put  the 
horse  and  buggy  in  his  stable  and  would  have 
to  come  right  down  the  alley  where  we  were. 
I  told  Oscar  to  come  on,  jumped  on  my  wheel, 
and  started.  He  understood  what  I  was  doing, 
jumped  on  his  wheel,  and  we  sailed  out  of  that 
alley  and  right  in  front  of  Mr.  Davis's  horse's 
nose.  It  snorted  and  jumped,  and  he  yelled 
at  us,  but  we  humped  ourselves  and  were 
around  the  corner  before  he  could  catch  his 
breath.  Then  we  went  to  Ferguson's,  put  our 
wheels  in  the  woodshed,  and  slipped  into  the 
house.  Mr.  Ferguson  came  into  the  hall  in 
his  night-shirt  and  asked  where  in  the  world 
we  young  rascals  had  been. 

"Bicycling,"  Oscar  said. 

"I  don't  see  why  that  should  keep  you  out 
to  this  hour  of  the  night." 

"Johnny  fell  off  his  wheel,  and  we  had  to 
wait  to  fix  it." 

"Hurt  you,  Johnny?" 

I  showred  him  my  pants  leg.  It  was  torn 
where  I  had  struck  my  knee,  and  I  guess  by 
this  time  Mr.  Ferguson  had  noticed  that  I  was 
limping.  He  said  for  us  to  get  into  Oscar's 
room  and  get  to  bed  right  away,  and  he  would 
settle  with  us  in  the  morning.  Oscar  said, 
after  we  got  undressed,  not  to  worry  about 
no 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

what  his  pa  said,  as  he  always  talked  that  way. 
My  knee  looked  pretty  bad.  It  had  been  cut 
some,  and  the  dirt  had  got  into  it,  and  it  was 
turning  all  black  and  blue.  I  could  hardly 
bend  it.  Just  when  we  were  climbing  into 
bed,  though,  Mrs.  Ferguson  came  in  with  a 
lamp  and  asked  to  see  my  knee. 

' '  Goodness  me !"  she  said .  "  You  surely  wasn ' t 
going  to  bed  with  your  knee  in  that  shape." 

I  told  her  it  didn't  amount  to  anything,  but 
she  made  me  wait  while  she  went  to  the  kitchen 
and  got  a  pan  of  water  and  some  soap  and  a 
towel,  and  came  back  and  washed  the  sore 
place,  and  then  she  rubbed  some  liniment  into 
it.  That  made  it  feel  better.  Mrs.  Ferguson 
is  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  woman. 

Oscar  and  I  had  hard  work  getting  to  sleep, 
though.  There  was  too  much  to  talk  about. 
Finally  we  decided  that  the  Emigger  had  really 
found  Annie  the  time  that  he  went  away,  just 
after  Oscar  located  her,  and  that  he  got  her  to 
come  from  wherever  she  was  and  stay  at  her 
uncle's. 

After  that  Oscar  didn't  say  anything  for 
quite  a  while,  and  I  thought  he  had  gone  to 
sleep,  but  all  at  once  he  rose  up  in  bed  and 
smacked  one  fist  into  the  other  hand  and 
mumbled : 

"Say,  Johnny,  who  stole  that  horse?" 
in 


XIII 

MR.  BASHFORD  says  that  some  folks 
draw  a  moral  like  a  dentist  draws  a 
tooth;  they  don't  know  how  much  it  hurts. 
And  that  was  the  way  with  a  lot  of  people 
when  the  word  got  around  that  Annie  Davis 
was  at  home. 

The  news  of  her  return  didn't  get  out  for  a 
while.  There  wasn't  any  particular  reason 
why  it  should,  unless  she  should  appear  on  the 
street,  or  her  folks  would  tell  it,  or  Oscar  or 
I  or  Mr.  Colquhoun  or  Dr.  Milton  should  an 
nounce  it.  Oscar  didn't  say  anything,  be 
cause  he  and  I  had  agreed  to  keep  mum,  for 
we  didn't  want  to  have  to  explain  how  we 
knew  about  it.  And  the  Emigger  never  talked 
much  to  any  one  about  affairs  he  was  mixed 
up  in.  The  Davises  are  quiet  people,  and  it 
stood  to  reason  that  they  wouldn't  tell  any 
thing  right  out,  but  would  just  let  folks  find 
out  the  best  way  they  could.  Kitsey  Morrey 
was  the  first  one  to  see  Annie  that  day,  and 
he  saw  her  on  their  side  porch  late  in  the 

112 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

afternoon  and  came  running  up  street  to  tell 
the  news.  Kitsey  is  tongue-tied.  His  real 
name  is  Arthur  Morrey,  but  we  nicknamed  him 
"Kitsey"  because  that  is  the  way  he  tries  to 
say  "Christmas." 

Lafe  Skidmore  and  Squire  Miller  and  some 
others  were  standing  and  sitting  around  Jor 
dan's  store,  when  Kitsey  Morrey  came  running 
up  and  trying  to  say  something.  When 
Kitsey  gets  excited  it  is  awful  hard  for  him  to 
talk,  and  this  time  he  was  not  only  excited, 
but  out  of  breath  from  running.  He  puffed 
and  sizzed  and  choked,  and  caught  Mr.  Jordan 
by  the  arm  and  pointed  back  down  street 
towards  Davis's  house. 

"What's  the  matter,  Kitsey?"  Mr.  Jordan 
asked. 

Kitsey  stuttered  and  stammered  and  sizzed 
some  more. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  boy?"  asked 
Ira  Growley.  "Swaller  a  fire-cracker?" 

Kitsey  gurgled  and  gasped  and  shook  his 
head  and  pointed  again. 

"Well,  great  snakes!"  Squire  Miller  said. 
"Go  down  to  the  fish-market  and  set  on  a 
cake  of  ice  till  you  cool  down,  Kitsey.  Then 
come  back  and  get  it  off  your  mind." 

This  time  Kitsey  managed  to  say  something 
that  sounded  like  "Annie  Davis." 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

They  all  jumped  up  and  crowded  around 
him.  Kitsey  got  more  excited  than  ever. 

"What  is  it,  Kitsey?  What  about  Annie 
Davis?"  Mr.  Jordan  asked. 

Kitsey  waved  his  hand  towards  the  Davises 
house,  and  choked  all  up  trying  to  say  what 
he  wanted  to. 

"What!"  Ira  Growley  yelled.  "Is  she 
there?" 

Kitsey 's  head  bobbed  up  and  down,  and 
they  all  looked  towards  Davis 's  house  as  if 
they  thought  they  would  see  her.  Lafe  Skid- 
more  had  started  down  street  already.  As 
soon  as  he  got  near  a  bunch  of  men  he  would 
say  sort  of.  unconcernedly : 

"Annie  Davis  just  got  home." 

"What?  Quit  your  kiddin',"  they  would 
answer. 

"Yep.  Fact.  She's  down  there  at  the 
house  now." 

The  word  got  around  fast.  It  wasn't  ten 
minutes  before  you  could  see  people  coming 
out  of  their  gates  and  starting  to  walk,  as  if 
they  were  just  taking  a  promenade  to  enjoy 
the  cool  evening.  They  would  saunter  down 
Main  Street,  then  some  way  or  other  they  al 
ways  found  it  necessary  to  go  by  Davis 's 
house.  But  they  didn't  see  Annie.  I  expect 
she  saw  them.  I  know  she  did,  for  afterwards 
114 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

she  told  my  mother  that  she  sat  behind  the 
curtains  at  her  window  and  watched  them 
passing  the  house,  and  that  she  felt  worse  then 
than  she  had  at  any  time  since  she  left  home. 
She  said  she  felt  like  slipping  away  and  run 
ning  off  again,  but  she  thought  of  her  father 
and  mother,  and  how  it  would  make  them  feel. 
When  she  thought  of  them,  she  said,  she  felt 
worse  than  ever  about  having  run  away.  Her 
father  and  mother  looked  ten  years  older,  they 
had  worried  so  much.  Folks  say  that  Mr. 
Davis,  although  he  let  on  that  there  wasn't 
anything  wrong,  had  scarcely  slept  at  all  dur 
ing  the  time  Annie  was  away,  and  that  Mrs. 
Davis  had  cried  and  cried  so  much  over  Annie's 
being  gone  that  her  eyes  had  nearly  failed  and 
she  had  had  to  get  glasses  to  wear. 

I  used  to  think  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to 
run  away  with  a  circus,  and  maybe  come  back 
here  after  a  few  years  and  astonish  everybody 
by  riding  around  the  ring  all  dressed  up  in  fine 
tights  and  things  like  that,  and  have  all  the 
boys  envying  me  when  I  jumped  through  the 
paper  hoops  or  turned  airsprings  and  lit  on 
the  horse  again,  but  if  it  would  make  my  folks 
feel  so  bad  about  it  I  don't  believe  I  would  do 
it.  Of  course,  now  that  I  am  a  journalist,  I 
don't  have  any  more  ideas  of  going  with  a  cir 
cus  or  being  a  soldier  or  a  railroad  man.  But 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

I  forgot  I  was  telling  about  how  the  people 
acted  about  Annie's  being  home  again. 

After  supper  that  evening  pa  came  home 
and  told  ma  that  Annie  had  got  back.  He 
had  heard  it  down  street  of  course.  I  had  to 
go  into  my  bedroom  and  laugh  to  myself  when 
I  heard  them  discussing  it,  and  wondering  how 
she  came  home,  and  where  she  had  been,  and 
everything  like  that.  Ma  and  Mrs.  Davis  have 
always  been  close  friends,  and  so  she  said  she 
would  go  over  there  after  a  while  and  tell  Mrs. 
Davis  how  glad  she  was  that  her  daughter  was 
home  again.  I  went  with  her  when  she  went. 
Pa  wouldn't  go.  He  said  they  would  be 
bothered  to  death  with  people  running  in  to 
quiz  them,  and  he  wouldn't  have  the  name  of 
a  he-gossip.  Of  course,  he  knew  that  ma  was 
going  simply  because  she  was  such  a  friend  of 
Mrs.  Davis.  She  really  was.  So,  as  I  said,  I 
went  along.  The  house  was  dark,  all  except  a 
light  in  the  sitting-room,  and  the  curtains  were 
pulled  down  at  the  windows.  Ma  knocked  at 
the  side  door,  and  when  Mr.  Davis  came  to  the 
door  she  said: 

"It's  me,  Mr.  Davis— Mrs.  Thompson." 
"Oh,    it's   you,    Elizabeth?"     My   mother's 
name  is  Elizabeth.     "Come  right  in.     Annie 
will  be   glad   to   see   you."     He   meant   Mrs. 
Davis.     Her  name  is  Annie,  too. 
116 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

We  went  in.  Mrs.  Davis  came  and  shook 
hands  with  ma,  and  right  behind  her  was  Annie. 

"Why,  Annie!"  ma  said.  "It's  nice  to  see 
you  at  home  again." 

"And  I'm  glad  to  be  home,"  Annie  said, 
softly.  She  seemed  to  be  about  to  cry,  and 
ma  put  her  arm  around  her  and  kissed  her,  and 
patted  her  on  the  shoulder  and  said: 

"There,  there.  Don't  you  say  another  word. 
Just  sit  down  and  let  me  look  at  you.  You 
certainly  do  look  well." 

But  Annie  looked  up  and  saw  me  and  said: 

"Why,  Johnny,  how  do  you  do?" 

I  shook  hands  with  her  and  couldn't  think 
of  anything  to  say.  I  felt  kind  of  guilty. 

We  all  sat  down,  and  ma  began  talking  right 
away.  I  tell  you,  I  was  proud  of  my  mother 
that  evening.  She  just  went  ahead  and  talked 
as  if  Annie  had  never  been  away  at  all,  and  as 
if  she  knew  everything  that  had  been  going  on, 
and  before  long  Annie  seemed  to  forget  that 
she  had  been  away,  and  then  they  were  all 
talking  away  with  one  another  as  comfortable 
as  you  please,  about  Mrs.  Anderson's  new 
dress  that  she  had  bought  in  Cincinnati,  and 
Flora  Beavers'  latest  premium,  a  patent  bread- 
mixer,  and  all  the  news  of  that  sort  that  the 
women  talk  about  and  that  isn't  of  enough 
importance  to  put  in  the  papers. 
117 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

While  they  were  talking  I  had  a  good  chance 
to  study  Annie  and  see  how  she  looked.  She 
seemed  to  have  grown  up  a  good  deal  while 
she  was  away.  Before  she  had  looked  like  a 
girl,  and  now  she  looked  a  young  woman.  And 
she  was  prettier  than  ever.  Her  hair  is  light, 
you  know,  and  she  had  it  twisted  up  on  top 
of  her  head;  and  her  cheeks,  which  had  been 
white  when  we  came  in,  got  all  pink  and  natural 
looking,  and  her  eyes  began  to  twinkle  again, 
and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  quit  turning  down. 
She  certainly  did  look  pretty.  Mr.  Davis,  too, 
seemed  to  have  changed  already.  His  shoul 
ders  had  straightened  up  and  that  sad  look 
was  gone  out  of  his  eyes.  Mrs.  Davis  just  sat 
and  rocked  and  smiled  and  listened  while  ma 
and  Annie  talked.  Ma  never  asked  a  single 
question  about  where  Annie  had  been  nor  how 
she  happened  to  come  home.  Mrs.  Davis 
started  once  or  twice  to  say  something  about 
it,  but  she  switched  off.  While  they  were  talk 
ing  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Annie 
got  up  and  started  to  it. 

"Hadn't  I  better  go,  Annie?"  her  mother 
asked. 

"No,  mamma,  I'll  go,"  she  said,  and  went  to 
the  door  and  opened  it. 

The  Emigger  came  in.  Annie's  cheeks  got 
pinker  than  ever,  and  she  shook  hands  with 
118 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

the  Emigger  as  if  she  hadn't  seen  him  since 
she  got  back.  That  looked  sort  of  funny  to 
me.  The  Emigger  spoke  to  us,  and  then  Annie 
led  the  way  for  him  into  the  parlor  and  lit  the 
lamp,  as  if  he  was  a  beau  of  hers.  Ma  got  up 
and  said  we  must  be  getting  home.  Mrs. 
Davis  said  not  to  be  in  a  hurry,  but  ma  said  no, 
that  we  really  must  go,  and  we  told  them  good 
night  and  left. 

"I  was  surprised  to  see  Mr.  Colquhoun  come 
there  to-night,"  I  said  to  ma  while  we  were 
walking  home. 

"  He  looked  a  little  bit  surprised  when  he 
saw  us — or  you,"  she  said,  and  laughed. 

On  the  way  home  we  met  Mrs.  Anderson,  and 
she  walked  along  with  us;  and  a  little  farther 
on  we  met  Orphena  Green,  and  she  turned 
around  and  came  with  us.  They  came  into 
the  house  and  sat  down  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  Flora  Banford  and  Miss  Beavers  came, 
too.  Then  some  more  women  dropped  in,  and 
pa  excused  himself  and  went  out  on  the  side 
porch.  I  stayed  in  the  parlor  with  them.  Of 
course  they  all  began  talking  about  Annie 
Davis  right  away. 

"I  hear  that  she  looks  as  if  she  was  at  the 
point  of  death,"  Miss  Banford  said. 

"Not   a   bit   of   it,"   ma   told   her.     "She's 
better  looking  than  ever." 
119 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Does  any  one  know  where  she  really  has 
been?"  Mrs.  Anderson  asked. 

"I  understand,"  Flora  Beavers  said,  "that 
she  has  been  at  her  uncle  Milo's  for  a  good 
while." 

"At  Milo  Davis 's?"  Orphena  Green  ex 
claimed.  "  Why,  do  you  know,  I  saw  a  strange 
woman  there  when  we  drove  by  one  afternoon 
about  two  weeks  ago,  and  I  thought  at  the 
time  that  she  had  a  familiar  look." 

Then  they  got  to  telling  all  they  had  heard, 
and  not  one  of  them  was  anywhere  near  the 
truth.  It  was  funny  to  listen  to,  and  I  thought 
what  a  sensation  it  wrould  make  if  I  would  tell 
what  I  knew.  But  I  kept  quiet  and  pretended 
to  be  reading  a  magazine. 

"They  say  she  has  been  with  a  big  theatrical 
company,"  Miss  Banford  said.  Then  Orphena 
Green  had  heard  that  she  had  been  working  in 
a  department  store,  and  the  others  had  heard 
something  else,  and  so  it  went,  until  one  of 
them  mentioned  Branthorpe's  name.  Then 
Mrs.  Anderson  drew  in  her  breath  and  wagged 
her  head  wisely. 

"Girls  will  be  foolish,"  she  sighed.  "I've 
often  said  that  Mrs.  Davis  wasn't  raising  Annie 
as  she  should  be.  It's  an  awful  blight  on  her 
name  to  have  eloped  with  that  actor  as  she 
did." 

120 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

I  couldn't  stand  that.  I  just  blurted  out, 
"She  never  saw  Branthorpe  after  he  left  here." 

They  all  turned  and  looked  at  me  in  surprise, 
and  ma  told  me  I  was  very  impolite  to  con 
tradict  Mrs.  Anderson.  Mrs.  Anderson,  you 
know,  is  very  heavy  set,  and  she  sort  of  panted 
and  glared  at  me  as  if  I  had  called  her  a  liar. 
But  I  didn't  like  the  way  she  had  said  what 
she  did,  and  I  repeated  that  Annie  Davis 
hadn't  seen  Branthorpe  after  he  had  left  town 
so  hurriedly. 

"How  do  you  know,  Johnny?"  ma  asked. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  know.  It's  a  secret, 
but  it's  the  truth.  Annie  Davis  never  saw  him 
any  more.  And  she  hasn't  been  on  the  stage, 
and  she  hasn't  been  working  in  a  store — and 
there  hasn't  been  any  time  all  summer  that 
she  couldn't  have  come  home  in  half  a  day." 

"Well,  mercy  me!  If  you  knew  all  this, 
why  didn't  you  tell  it?"  Orphena  Green  asked. 

"  Oh,  Johnny  and  Oscar  Ferguson  have  been 
playing  detective,"  said  Flora  Beavers,  smil 
ing,  "  and  they  really  did  find  out  a  great  deal. 
I  think  Johnny  is  speaking  the  truth,  Mrs. 
Anderson,  for  I  have  heard  the  same  thing 
from  a  different  source." 

"You  have?  Well,  Flora  Beavers,  I  can't 
see  why  you  haven't  told  us,  then,"  Mrs.  An 
derson  replied.  "  Where  did  you  hear  so  much  ?" 

121 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I'm  like  Johnny.     It  isn't  fair  to  tell." 

"Well,  it's  simply  a  mercy  that  the  poor 
girl  is  home  again,  safe  and  sound,"  Mrs.  An 
derson  said.  "And  it  is  a  blessing  she  didn't 
fall  into  the  hands  of  that  man  Branthorpe. 
Women  have  a  hard  fate  in  this  life,  anyway. 
They  are  simply  the  toys  of  men.  Simply 
toys!"  And  she  looked  like  she  does  when 
she  talks  about  souls  and  spirits  and  mahatmas 
and  things  like  that. 

I  had  to  snicker  when  she  said  that  women 
were  toys,  and  I  couldn't  help  thinking  how 
she  would  look  swinging  from  a  Christmas-tree 
or  sticking  out  of  some  one's  stocking.  She 
weighs  two  or  three  hundred  pounds,  I  don't 
know  which,  and  if  she  was  a  toy  it  would  keep 
anybody  busy  to  keep  her  from  falling  against 
him  and  hurting  him. 

Then  they  talked  a  little  bit  about  some 
other  things,  but  before  long  they  got  around 
to  Annie  Davis  again.  They  knew  we  had 
been  over  there,  and  they  tried  to  pump  ma 
and  find  out  something,  but  she  told  them  the 
truth,  that  she  hadn't  asked  anything  about 
where  Annie  had  been,  or  what  she  had  done, 
or  when  she  came  home. 

"I  shall  go  down  there  to-morrow  morn 
ing,"  Mrs.  Anderson  said.  "I  feel  ashamed 
of  myself  for  not  running  right  down  there 

122 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

to-night,  as  an  old  friend  should  have  done. 
But  I  thought  perhaps  they  would  rather  be 
left  alone  in  their  happiness  this  evening." 

I  could  see  that  ma  didn't  like  that  remark, 
but  everybody  is  used  to  the  way  Mrs.  Ander 
son  talks,  and  she  said  nothing.  They  all 
began  to  say  they  must  be  going  home,  and 
Orphena  Green,  Miss  Banford,  and  Mrs.  Ander 
son  went  out  together.  The  other  women  got 
on  their  hats  and  went  one  by  one,  until  Flora 
Beavers  was  the  only  one  left. 

"I  expect  Johnny  had  better  go  part  of  the 
way  with  you,  Flora,  unless  your  mother  was 
intending  to  drive  in  for  you,"  ma  said,  when 
Flora  began  talking  about  going. 

"Oh  no.     I  wouldn't  trouble  him." 

Pa  came  in  from  the  side  porch  just  then 
and  asked  if  the  jury  had  handed  in  a  verdict. 
He  pretended  to  be  surprised  to  see  Miss 
Beavers  still  there,  and  then  said: 

"  I  wondered  why  Bashford  insisted  on  sitting 
on  the  porch  with  me  and  keeping  me  up  so  late. ' ' 

Miss  Beavers  laughed,  and  told  pa  he  thought 
he  was  awful  bright,  and  then  Mr.  Bashford 
came  in  and  said  he  had  just  happened  to  be 
walking  around  our  way,  as  he  needed  some 
exercise,  and  that  a  stroll  out  as  far  as  Beavers' 
would  do  him  good,  so  he  would  take  Flora 
home. 

123 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  pa  said,  as  soon  as 
they  were  gone. 

"I  could  have  told  you  long  before  that," 
ma  said. 

When  I  asked  what  they  meant,  they  said  I 
mustn't  always  be  looking  for  news,  and  that 
it  was  time  for  me  to  get  to  bed. 


XIV 

DID  you  ever  notice  how  the  school -bell 
seems  to  taunt  you  when  it  rings  the  first 
morning  of  the  beginning  of  school?  It  has 
been  quiet  all  summer,  but  it  seems  as  if  it  has 
been  watching  you  having  a  good  time,  or  at 
least  knew  that  you  were  feeling  glad  because 
you  didn't  have  it  ding-donging  at  you  all  the 
time;  and  when  it  once  more  gets  the  right  to 
give  you  orders,  it  rings  with  an  I-told-you- 
I'd-get-you  tone.  That  was  the  way  it  sound 
ed  to  Oscar  and  me  Monday  morning,  and  we 
had  to  start  back  to  school.  I  realized  then 
what  a  lot  of  fun  I  had  had,  even  working  as 
I  had  been  in  the  printing  -  office.  A  fellow 
may  have  to  work  twice  as  many  hours  in  the 
day  as  he  has  to  put  in  at  school,  but  work 
doesn't  seem  like  studying  and  reciting.  Pro 
fessor  Jones  gave  us  a  nice  talk,  full  of  long 
words,  and  got  all  mixed  up  trying  to  tell  us 
a  helpful  anecdote  that  even  Oscar,  with  all  his 
detective  talent,  couldn't  have  found  the  moral 
in  when  the  professor  got  through  with  it. 
125 


Then  we  got  our  lessons  assigned  to  us,  and 
settled  down  to  school-work.  Mr.  Bashford 
was  right,  though,  when  he  said  that  setting 
type  would  be  an  education  for  me.  I  found 
that  it  wasn't  half  as  hard  to  get  my  lessons 
or  to  understand  them  as  it  used  to  be. 

After  school  I  went  to  the  office  and  worked 
until  supper  -  time.  This  only  gave  me  a 
couple  hours  on  school-days,  but  by  this  time 
I  had  gotten  to  be  a  pretty  good  type-setter, 
and  could  do  a  good  deal  of  work.  Then,  on 
Friday  night,  I  came  back  to  the  office  as  usual 
after  supper  and  helped  run  off  the  paper  and 
paste  and  wrap  the  copies  that  were  to  be 
mailed.  The  Emigger  was  working  harder 
than  ever  now.  Mr.  Bashford  joked  him  a 
good  deal  about  it,  saying  that  he  must  have 
some  new  sort  of  ambition  to  cause  him  to 
apply  himself  so  closely  to  his  duties;  and  the 
Emigger  joked  back  at  Mr.  Bashford,  telling 
him  that  he  was  buckling  down  to  work  as 
if  his  youth  had  been  renewed,  too. 

The  week  rolled  around  pretty  quick,  to  my 
notion,  what  with  my  being  at  school  and  at 
work  at  the  same  time,  and  I  was  glad  when 
Saturday  came.  There  wasn't  so  very  much 
work  to  be  done  after  taking  the  papers  to  the 
post-office,  just  distribute  type  and  wash  the 
rollers  and  clean  up  generally,  and  maybe  at- 
126 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

tend  to  some  job-work  that  had  to  be  done. 
Saturday  Mr.  Bashford  and  the  Emigger  usual 
ly  stayed  in  the  office  all  day,  talking  with 
country  people  who  came  in  to  pay  their  sub 
scriptions,  and  chatting  with  them  about  the 
premiums  they  got  at  the  fair,  and  about  their 
wheat  and  corn  and  hogs  and  things.  Mr. 
Bashford  was  pretty  good  at  this,  but  the 
Emigger  could  beat  him  all  hollow  when  it 
came  to  getting  on  the  good  side  of  the  farmers. 
Usually  he  could  recollect  some  one  of  the  same 
name  that  used  to  live  in  Virginia,  and  then  he 
was  still  a  curiosity  to  most  of  them.  He  still 
wore  his  broad-brimmed  black  slouch-hat  and 
black  Prince  Albert  suit,  and  he  always  knew 
a  funny  story  to  tell.  The  first  Saturday  after 
noon  after  I  had  resumed  my  school  duties, 
Oscar  came  into  the  office  and  asked  me  if  I 
couldn't  get  off  to  go  swimming.  I  said  I  was 
afraid  not,  as  I  had  five  hundred  sale  bills  to 
run  off. 

"Well,  there  isn't  going  to  be  much  more 
swimming  this  year,"  Oscar  said;  "and  some 
of  the  fellows  are  going  up  to  the  bend  this 
afternoon.  Better  come  along." 

"  It  must  be  pretty  rough  water  there  to 
day,"  I  said. 

It  had  been  raining  for  a  couple  of  days  be 
fore,  and  had  cleared  off  that  morning,  and  the 
127 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

creek  was  high.  The  bend  is  narrow  and  deep 
in  the  middle,  and  the  water,  when  there  has 
been  a  rain,  goes  through  mighty  fast,  some 
times  rolling  in  regular  billows  away  out  in  the 
centre. 

"Of  course  it  is  rough,"  Oscar  said.  "That 
will  make  it  all  the  more  fun." 

Mr.  Bashford  and  the  Emigger  had  heard 
Oscar  and  me  talking,  and  Mr.  Bashford  said: 
"  It  will  be  all  right,  Johnny.  Go  along,  if  you 
want  to.  Maybe  Oscar  can  get  a  new  clew 
about  Mr.  Colquhoun's  horse  up  there.  Say, 
Oscar,  have  you  dropped  that  case?" 

"  I  never  drop  a  case,  Mr.  Bashford,  until  it 
is  closed,"  Oscar  replied. 

"I'd  plumb  forgotten  that  horse,"  the 
Emigger  laughed.  "  I  wonder  what  really  did 
become  of  the  animal.  I  had  just  concluded 
to  name  him  Blasted  Hope  or  something  equal 
ly  expressive,  when  he  disappeared." 

"I'll  find  that  horse  yet,  Mr.  Colquhoun," 
Oscar  said. 

"  If  you  do,  you  may  have  him  for  your  fee. 
Tell  you  what  I  believe  I'll  do.  Believe  I'll  go 
along  to  the  bend  with  the  boys  and  look  on 
for  a  while.  I  haven't  seen  a  bunch  of  them 
in  swimming  for  a  long  time." 

So  we  three  started  out  together,  leaving 
Mr.  Bashford  to  run  the  office.  It  seemed 
128 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

pretty  good  to  have  the  Emigger  along;  it  was 
like  old  times.  He  thought  of  that,  too,  and 
spoke  of  it  while  we  were  cutting  across  through 
the  fields  after  getting  out  of  town.  We  saw 
a  good  many  places  that  reminded  him  and  me 
of  the  times  when  we  drove  the  rag-wagon 
together.  There  were  about  ten  of  the  boys 
at  the  bend  when  we  got  there;  they  were 
paddling  around  close  to  the  shore.  Out  in 
the  middle  of  the  creek  the  water  was  rolling 
high,  and  it  looked  dangerous.  After  it  sweeps 
around  the  bend  the  creek  gets  shallow  and 
runs  over  a  lot  of  bowlders  and  sand  for  about 
half  a  mile.  But  in  the  bend  itself  there  are 
places  where  you  can  hardly  touch  bottom 
when  you  dive.  Oscar  and  I  got  out  of  our 
clothes,  and  the  Emigger  sat  down  and  lighted 
a  cigar.  He  said  it  would  be  more  fun  for  him 
to  watch  us  than  to  go  in  himself.  We  jumped 
in.  The  water  was  chilly  at  first,  but  once  we 
were  used  to  it  it  was  nice.  After  splashing 
and  paddling  about  near  the  shore,  we  got  to 
swimming  out  towards  the  rough  water  and 
then  back  again. 

"Better  be  careful,  boys,"  the  Emigger 
cautioned  us. 

So  then  we  got  in  line  and  held  hands  and 
waded  out  as  far  into  the  rough  water  as  we 
could.  The  boy  on  the  end  of  the  line  would 

129 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

keep  right  on  until  he  got  to  the  drop-off  in  the 
middle,  where  he  would  go  down  over  his  head, 
and  then  the  rest  of  us  would  pull  him  in. 
Four  or  five  of  the  boys  had  done  this,  and 
then  it  came  my  turn.  I  kept  on  going  out, 
and  when  I  reached  the  drop-off  I  began  to 
tread  water,  for  I  wanted  to  go  out  farther 
than  any  of  the  others.  I  managed  to  get  right 
into  the  edge  of  the  billows,  and  Oscar  called 
to  me  to  start  back.  He  had  hold  of  my 
hand  and  could  feel  that  his  feet  were  on  the 
drop-off,  and  knew  that  I  must  be  beyond  my 
depth.  I  turned  half-wray  to  start  back,  when 
a  big  wave  struck  me  in  the  face  and  I  lost  my 
breath  and  my  hands  flew  up,  and  there  I  was! 
I  can  swim,  but  the  water  was  too  swift  for  me. 
I  tried  my  best  to  strike  out  for  the  shore,  but 
every  time  I  made  a  stroke  a  wave  hit  me  in 
the  face  —  and  my  mouth  was  open  and  I 
choked  and  strangled.  I  heard  Oscar  yelling: 

"Come  on  out,  Johnny!" 

I  could  see  that  he  was  nearly  to  the  bank, 
and  I  almost  had  to  laugh,  thinking  how  fool 
ish  it  was  for  him  to  say  that,  when  he  ought 
to  know  that  I  wasn't  staying  out  there  being 
rolled  and  tumbled  over  and  over  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing.  I  tried  to  tell  him  so,  but  some 
more  water  got  into  my  mouth,  and  I  realized 
that  I  had  better  save  my  breath.  So  I  made 
130 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

another  effort  to  swim,  but  it  was  no  use,  and 
then  I  got  a  cramp  in  my  arm  and  went  under. 
When  I  came  up  I  had  been  carried  down 
stream,  and  I  knew  I  was  a  goner  if  some  one 
didn't  come  to  help  me.  I  shouted  "Help!" 
or  tried  to  shout  it,  but  when  I  got  the  word 
half  out  I  went  under  the  water  again,  and  it 
was  just  like  "He-bubble-bubble!"  I  knew  I 
was  in  a  mighty  dangerous  place,  but  at  the 
same  time  I  noticed  everything  the  boys  and 
the  Emigger  were  doing.  Some  way  it  was 
more  as  if  I  was  watching  them,  without  pay 
ing  any  attention  to  myself.  Oscar  was  climb 
ing  up  the  bank,  and  the  other  boys  were  dan 
cing  up  and  down  in  the  water  and  calling  to 
me  to  come  on  out.  I  kept  going  under  and 
coming  up'  again,  and  all  the  time  I  kept  my 
legs  going  as  hard  as  I  could,  trying  to  tread 
water  and  save  myself.  I  did  that  without 
knowing  why  I  did  it.  And  once  when  I  was 
going  under  I  thought  of  how  folks  said  that  a 
person  who  was  drowning  always  went  down 
three  times,  exactly,  and  the  third  time  he 
went  down  he  stayed  down.  I  thought  of  that, 
because  I  knew  I  had  gone  under  something 
like  half  a  dozen  times,  so  that  was  one  theory 
disproved.  And  I  kept  on  trying  to  yell 
"Help!"  I  knew  it  wasn't  any  use  doing  that, 
because  it  wouldn't  bring  help;  that  I  was  so 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

far  out  in  the  stream  that  I  would  drown  be 
fore  any  of  them  could  get  to  me.  But  I  just 
kept  on  yelling  it.  I  suppose  I  did  so  because 
people  who  fall  in  the  water  always  do  it.  I 
saw  the  Emigger  running  along  the  bank  of 
the  creek,  down-stream,  and  saw  that  his  hat 
was  off,  and  that  he  was  pulling  off  his  coat 
and  vest  and  dropping  them  as  he  ran.  He 
wasn't  calling  to  me  at  all,  like  the  boys  were. 
Even  from  as  far  away  as  I  was,  I  could  see 
that  his  face  had  a  strange  expression  on  it, 
and  that  he  was  thinking  as  fast  as  he  ran.  I 
remember  his  running.  I  remember  wonder 
ing  why  it  was  I  never  had  seen  him  run  before, 
and  why  I  never  had  supposed  he  could  get  up 
so  much  speed. 

By  this  time  I  was  turning  the  bend,  and 
coming  towards  the  bowlders,  and  I  remember 
thinking  of  how  I  was  going  to  get  bumped. 
All  this  time  I  had  kept  watching  for  one  thing. 
I  have  always  read  that  when  a  person  is 
drowning  he  not  only  goes  down  three  times, 
and  stays  down  then,  but  I  have  read  that 
when  he  is  drowning  his  past  life  flashes  before 
him  in  a  series  of  pictures.  It  does  not.  I 
kept  looking  for  those  pictures.  I  recollect 
that  after  the  first  scare  of  realizing  that  I  was 
drowning,  I  got  rather  interested  on  this  point, 
and  continued  to  wonder  what  I  would  see 
132 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

first.  I  knew  I  was  drowning.  I  had  a  dim 
sort  of  wonder  about  what  people  would  say 
about  me,  and  how  I  would  look  at  my  funeral; 
but  that  was  merely  a  sudden  thought.  It 
came  and  went  in  a  flash.  I  kept  kicking  away 
with  my  feet,  but  my  arms  might  as  well  have 
been  paralyzed.  From  miles  and  miles  away, 
then,  I  heard  the  Emigger  shout: 
"Keep  up,  Johnny!  I'll  get  you!" 
I  didn't  take  any  particular  interest  in  that. 
I  had  a  hazy  recollection,  that  was  all,  of  hav 
ing  known  the  Emigger;  and  I  knew,  too,  in  a 
general  way,  that  if  anybody  tried  to  get  me 
out  it  would  be  him.  But  I  didn't  care.  I 
kept  going  under  oftener  and  oftener,  and 
swallowing  more  and  more  water.  And  I  grew 
awfully  tired.  It  didn't  seem  to  be  worth 
while  to  keep  my  legs  going.  What  was  the 
use?  I  stopped  kicking,  and  floated  along, 
now  coming  to  the  surface,  and  now  going 
down  again,  first  on  my  face  and  then  on  my 
back.  And  then  I  felt  my  feet  bang  against 
a  rock  and  knew  I  had  struck  the  bowlders. 
Then  it  was  just  as  if  you  were  lying  down  in  a 
great,  big  feather-bed.  Everything  about  me 
was  warm  and  soft,  and  all  the  sky  was  black, 
with  a  lot  of  silver  specks  and  spots  in  it  that 
danced  back  and  forth — like  when  you  press 
your  finger  against  you  eye  and  hold  it  there  a 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

while.  And  so  I  just  seemed  to  lie  down  in 
that  big,  soft  feather-bed — and  then  I  didn't 
know  anything  more  until  I  heard  some  one  say : 

"He's  all  right  now." 

I  looked  up  and  the  Emigger  was  standing 
over  me,  or  stooping  over  me,  and  all  the  boys 
were  standing  around.  Some  of  them  were 
crying.  All  of  them  looked  scared  to  death. 
I  said: 

"  Hello,  there!"     Then  I  went  to  sleep  again. 

The  Emigger  slapped  me  on  the  cheek  and 
said,  real  quick: 

"  Open  your  eyes,  Johnny.  Are  you  all  right 
now?" 

"Of  course  I'm  all  right,"  I  said,  opening  my 
eyes  and  trying  to  sit  up.  He  got  down  on 
one  knee  and  slipped  his  arm  about  me  and 
lifted  me  up.  My  head  quit  buzzing  and 
swimming  around,  and  before  long  I  was  gig 
gling  and  blinking  back  tears  at  the  same  time. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "  I  guess  I  won't  want  a  drink 
again  for  a  good  while." 

"I  guess  not,"  the  Emigger  told  me.  "I 
pumped  about  half  the  creek  out  of  you  after 
I  dragged  you  to  the  shore." 

"Where's  Oscar?"  I  asked,  looking  around, 
frightened.  "Did  he — was  he  drowned?" 

"  He  went  to  town  to  get  help,  or  to  tell  your 
folks,"  Roy  Stevens  said. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Some  of  the  other  boys  came  along  then, 
bringing  their  clothes  and  mine,  and  the 
Emigger  helped  me  dress,  and  the  other  boys 
got  into  their  clothes.  I  noticed  then  that 
the  Emigger 's  shirt  and  pants  were  dripping 
wet. 

"Did  you  swim  after  me?"  I  asked  him. 

"No.  I  didn't  have  to  swim.  When  I  got 
to  you  you  were  drifting  along  in  the  shallows, 
face  down,  and  all  gone.  I  thought  you  were 
dead,  pardner." 

"Well,  I'm  much  obliged,  Mr.  Colquhoun. 
I  ought  to  give  you  a  watch  or  a  medal,  I  sup 
pose,  but  I  can't  now.  When  I  get  bigger, 
I'll—" 

"That's  all  right,  old  man,"  he  said.  "You 
just  do  as  much  for  me  if  you  ever  get  the 
chance,  and  we'll  call  it  square." 

Then  my  conscience  commenced  to  hurt  me. 
The  other  boys  were  off  to  one  side,  so  I  just 
told  the  Emigger  about  me  and  Oscar  follow 
ing  him  to  Milo  Davis 's  the  night  Annie  came 
home.  He  listened  quietly  until  I  finished,  then 
took  hold  of  my  hand  and  shook  it  and  said : 

"I'm  glad  you  told  me,  Johnny.  But  I 
knew  it  all  this  time." 

"You  knew  it?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  you  when  you  were  getting  on 
your  wheels  after  you  had  fallen  in  the  road." 

I3S 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

But  I  felt  better  for  telling  him,  and  just 
then  here  came  my  folks  in  a  buggy,  driving  as 
hard  as  they  could  down  through  the  field. 
When  they  saw  me,  pa  called: 

"Have  you  got  his — his  body?" 

"Body,  boy,  and  all — as  good  as  ever!"  the 
Emigger  shouted. 

"What?     Is  he  alive?" 

"Yes." 

"Thank  the  Lord." 

Ma  jumped  out  of  the  buggy  and  ran  to  me 
and  hugged  me  and  kissed  me  —  and  I  felt 
ashamed,  right  there  before  all  the  boys.  She 
asked  about  a  hundred  questions,  and  the 
Emigger  told  her  and  pa  all  about  how  it  had 
happened,  but  said  hardly  anything  about  his 
taking  me  out.  I  told  them: 

"If  Mr.  Colquhoun  hadn't  got  to  me  when 
he  did,  and  pulled  me  out,  and  pumped  the 
water  out  of  me,  and  got  me  to  breathing  again, 
I'd  have  been  drowned." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Thompson,"  the  Emigger  said, 
"Johnny  overestimates  what  I  did.  I  should 
have  reached  him  long  before  I  did,  and  then 
he  would  not  have  had  such  a  close  call.  But 
we  cannot  always  decide  what  is  the  best  thing 
to  do  first  under  such  circumstances." 

"Well,  God  bless  you  for  what  you  did,  Mr. 
Colquhoun,"  ma  said. 

136 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Yes,"  pa  said.  "We  can't  thank  you  now 
as  we  would  like  to.  After  we  get  over  the 
excitement  we  can  say  what  we  should.  We 
had  better  get  Johnny  home,  I  think." 

I  had  to  lean  against  pa  to  walk  to  the  buggy. 
I  was  pretty  weak.  When  we  got  to  the  rig, 
I  saw  some  one  sitting  under  the  lap-robe. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked. 

"Oscar  Ferguson." 

"But  what—?" 

Then  pa  laughed,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  how  near  he  had  been  to  losing  me. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  Oscar  did  ?"  he  asked. 
"  He  ran  all  the  way  to  town  and  right  up  Main 
Street  to  our  house  to  tell  us  you  were  drowned 
— and  he  didn't  have  a  stitch  of  clothes  on  him! 
He  forgot  them." 

Oscar  climbed  out  with  the  lap-robe  around 
him,  and  hurried  over  where  the  boys  had  his 
clothes. 

"Johnny  scares  a  fellow  so  he  don't  know 
what  he's  doing,"  he  said,  as  he  began  to  dress. 


XV 


"  T  DON'T  suppose  you  would   have  tried  so 

1  hard  to  save  Johnny,  if  you  had  known 
we  owed  him  a  week's  wages,"  Mr.  Bashford 
said  to  the  Emigger  Monday  morning.  The 
Emigger  laughed,  and  said  I  was  too  good  a 
hand  to  spare  just  now. 

Between  poking  fun  at  Oscar  because  of  the 
way  he  ran  through  town,  and  giving  me  good 
advice,  most  of  the  people  in  town  were  busy 
that  day  and  the  day  before. 

"  Serves  you  right,"  Squire  Miller  said  to  me. 

I  couldn't  figure  out  what  he  meant,  but  no 
doubt  it  was  intended  as  a  warning  of  some 
kind. 

"Them  that's  born  to  be  hung  will  never 
get  drowned,"  Lafe  Skidmore  said. 

"  Next  time  you  go  swimming,  keep  out  of 
the  water,"  was  Judge  Lambert's  advice. 

Orphena  Green  told  ma  if  she  wasn't  so  busy 
canning  fruit,  she  would  write  a  poem  welcom 
ing  me  home  from  a  watery  grave.  And  so  it 
went. 

138 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

The  Emigger  and  Mr.  Bashford  didn't  talk 
very  much  to  me  about  it,  however,  for  they 
had  something  more  important  on  their  minds. 
Ike  Peters  had  come  into  the  office  that  after 
noon,  while  I  was  at  school,  and  had  told  them 
of  some  news  he  had  heard.  He  had  been 
doing  some  chores  at  Davis 's,  and  while  there 
he  had  overheard  a  conversation  between  Annie 
and  her  mother.  He  had  gathered  from  it  that 
Annie  had  received  a  letter  from  Arthur  Keene 
Branthorpe.  How  Branthorpe  knew  she  was 
at  home  was  a  mystery.  Mr.  Bashford  had 
told  Ike  Peters  to  keep  his  tongue  still  and  not 
tell  anybody  about  what  he  had  heard.  He 
had  given  Ike  a  good  scare,  and  told  him  he 
would  get  into  all  kinds  of  trouble. 

"  He  may  go  and  spread  the  word  all  over 
town,  though,"  Mr.  Bashford  said.  "He's  got 
a  brain-pan  as  small  as  a  teaspoon,  and  it  has 
had  'For  Rent'  on  it  ever  since  he  was  born." 

"  Did  Ike  know  any  particulars  about  the 
letter?"  the  Emigger  asked. 

"Particulars?  What  does  a  chuckle-head 
like  him  care  for  particulars  ?  Particulars  sim 
ply  bother  him.  All  he  wants  is  a  generality 
to  set  him  going." 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  the  Emigger  said. 
He  sat  at  his  desk  and  studied  and  studied. 
It  was  plain  that  the  news  worried  him.  By- 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

and-by  Mr.  Bashford  got  up  and  went  down 
street,  but  the  Emigger  still  sat  there  and 
thought.  After  a  while  he  called  me  to  him 
and  said: 

"I  can  trust  you,  Johnny,  I  know." 

"Yes,  sir.     Of  course  you  can." 

"Will  you  go  down  to  Davis's  and  see  Annie, 
and  ask  her  if  she  will  let  me  see  the  letter  she 
got  from  Branthorpe?" 

I  went  right  down  there,  and  Annie  came  to 
the  door  when  I  rang  the  bell.  I  told  her  my 
message,  and  she  told  me  to  wait  a  minute. 
She  went  back  in  the  house,  and  soon  returned 
with  a  letter  in  her  hand.  She  gave  it  to  me, 
but  as  I  was  going  down  the  steps  she  called 
to  me: 

"Wait  a  minute.  I'll — I'll  take  it  up  there 
myself  if  you  will  wait  until  I  get  my  hat  on. 
I  should  like  to  talk  with  Mr.  Colquhoun  about 
it." 

So  she  went  to  the  office  with  me.  The 
Emigger  looked  surprised  to  see  her  come  in. 
She  said: 

"  I  knew  you  would  have  come  to  the  house 
if  I  had  asked  Johnny  to  ask  you  to  come,  but 
I  thought  maybe  it  would  be  best  if  I  saw  you 
here.  I — I  didn't  know  what  I  wanted  to  do, 
really.  I  have  been  so  nervous  all  day.  How 
did  you  learn  that  this  letter  had  come?" 
140 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  Ike  Peters  heard  you  and  your  mother  talk 
ing  about  it  and  told  Mr.  Bashford." 

"Oh,  dear!  Everybody  in  town  will  know 
it  now." 

"No  they  won't.  Ike  won't  say  anything 
about  it  to  anybody  else." 

"Well,  Mr.  Colquhoun,  I  was  terribly  fright 
ened  when  this  letter  came."  She  handed  him 
the  letter.  "  I  can't  imagine  how  the  man 
found  out  I  was  at  home  again.  You  may 
read  the  letter  if  you  like.  I  am  sure  you  can 
suggest  what  will  be  best  for  me  to  do.  You 
see,  he  says  he  is  coming  here,  but  doesn't  say 
when." 

The  Emigger  opened  the  letter  and  read  it 
half  aloud.  I  wasn't  eavesdropping,  but  I 
could  hear  some  parts  of  it.  Besides,  Annie 
and  the  Emigger  didn't  care  if  I  heard  it.  They 
knew  me. 

Branthorpe  wrote  that  he  was  awful  sorry 
to  have  failed  to  meet  Annie  when  she  left 
home,  but  that  important  business  matters  had 
called  him  away  unexpectedly  from  Cincinnati. 
Annie  blushed  when  this  part  of  the  letter  was 
read,  for  it  showed  that  she  had  run  away  to 
meet  Branthorpe. 

"I  was  a  very  foolish  girl,"  she  said,  softly. 

"We  are  all  foolish,  sometime  or  other,"  the 
Emigger  answered,  and  went  on  reading. 
141 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Branthorpe  wrote  a  whole  lot  of  stuff  about 
how  he  had  never  forgotten  her,  and  never  could 
forget  her,  and  how  he  had  tried  to  find  her  in 
Cincinnati  later  and  had  written  to  her  there, 
and  how  he  had  just  learned  through  a  friend 
who  had  been  in  Plainville  that  she  was  at 
home  again.  He  was  coming  here  soon,  he 
said,  and  hoped  then  to  see  her.  This  part  of 
the  letter  sounded  as  if  he  meant  to  see  her 
whether  or  no.  There  was  more  to  it  than 
was  written.  Branthorpe  did  not  say  how 
soon  he  would  be  here,  but  asked  her  to  write 
him  to  the  general  delivery  at  Cincinnati  at 
once. 

"What  can  I  do?"  Annie  asked  the  Emigger. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  he  asked  her. 

"Oh,  I  never  want  to  see  him  again.  If  he 
should  speak  to  me  even,  I  should  feel  like 
dying  of  mortification.  I — I  feel  terribly  about 
it,  Mr.  Colquhoun.  You  can't  imagine— 

She  choked  with  a  little  sob  then,  and  she 
would  have  been  crying  in  good  earnest  in  an 
other  minute,  if  the  Emigger  hadn't  com 
menced  talking  cheerfully  to  her  and  telling 
her  that  she  needn't  worry  a  bit  about  it,  that 
Branthorpe  should  not  annoy  her  for  a  minute. 
Then  he  said  she  would  better  let  him  walk 
down  home  with  her,  and  they  started  out. 

There  was  nothing  more  heard  from  Bran- 
142 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

thorpe  in  the  next  day  or  so,  but  Mr.  Bashford 
and  the  Emigger  talked  a  good  deal  about  the 
matter.  Mr.  Bashford 's  words  to  Ike  Peters 
had  made  him  keep  still  and  nobody  else  in 
town  knew  anything  about  the  letter  Annie 
had  received.  I  passed  her  house  every  day 
going  to  and  from  school,  and  I  saw  her  once 
or  twice.  She  was  beginning  to  look  worried 
again. 

Thursday  of  that  week  a  man  came  to  town 
to  put  up  the  posters  advertising  a  show  com 
pany  that  would  play  three  nights.  It  was 
"The  Thespian  Repertoire  Company,"  and  the 
show  bills  were  in  colors,  and  showed  heroines 
jumping  over  Niagara  Falls  and  being  dragged 
from  in  front  of  trains  and  pointing  big  pistols 
at  the  villain.  The  man  came  to  the  office 
and  wanted  to  know  where  he  could  hire  a 
couple  of  good  boys  to  distribute  dodgers.  I 
told  him  I  could  do  it,  maybe,  before  school  in 
the  morning,  and  would  get  Oscar  to  help  me. 

"All  right,"  said  the  man.  "I'll  give  you 
both  free  tickets  to  all  the  performances  if  you 
will." 

He  got  me  to  go  to  the  hotel  with  him,  and 
gave  me  an  armful  of  the  dodgers  that  Oscar 
and  I  were  to  distribute,  and  then  he  came  back 
to  the  office  and  got  Mr.  Bashford  to  figure  on 
printing  programmes  for  the  performances.  The 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

company  gave  away  a  gold  watch  at  each  per 
formance,  and  whether  or  not  you  got  it  de 
pended  on  the  number  you  held.  You  would 
get  a  numbered  ticket  when  you  went  in  the 
door.  As  this  was  sure  to  draw  a  crowd  to 
every  show,  the  man  got  up  a  programme  filled 
with  advertisements  of  most  of  the  business 
houses  in  town.  He  did  this  the  next  day.  It 
made  Mr.  Bashford  pretty  mad  even  if  we  did 
get  the  job  of  printing  the  programmes. 

"Here's  people  taking  space  in  this  pro 
gramme,"  he  said  to  the  Emigger,  "and  pay 
ing  hard  cash  for  it,  too,  who  owe  us  for  adver 
tisements  and  subscriptions.  You  bet  if  I  go 
away  from  home  to  buy  a  pair  of  shoestrings 
they  give  me  fits  for  supporting  foreign  in 
dustries.  I  suppose  they  could  crawl  out  of 
this  by  saying  they  were,  encouraging  art  and 
the  drama." 

The  company  was  going  to  play  "  East 
Lynne"  Monday  night,  "Sentenced  for  Life" 
Tuesday  night,  and  "Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar- 
Room"  Wednesday  night.  Roy  Stevens  was 
disappointed  because  they  weren't  going  to 
play  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  because  whenever 
an  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  troupe  came  to  town 
he  always  got  in  for  nothing,  and  so  did  all  his 
folks,  because  his  little  brother  Harry  has  long, 
curly  hair,  and  the  actors  always  got  him  for 
144 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

the  baby  that  Eliza  carried  across  the  ice  with 
the  blood-hounds  in  fierce  pursuit.  "  Sentenced 
for  Life"  looked  like  it  might  be  a  good  show. 
The  bills  that  advertised  it  showed  men  in 
striped  clothes  working,  while  guards  with  big 
rifles  watched  them  from  the  walls  of  a  prison. 
We  all  knew  about "  Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar-Room. ' ' 

The  show-man  came  back  to  town  Saturday 
morning,  and  had  the  copy  for  the  rest  of  the 
programmes  with  him.  I  had  all  the  advertise 
ments  set  up,  and  left  a  place  in  the  middle  of 
the  form  for  the  programme  of  the  plays  to  go. 
The  way  it  was  done  was  to  put  in  the  cast  of 
characters  and  title  of  the  play  for  one  night, 
print  that  lot,  then  take  out  the  programme 
part  and  put  in  the  type  that  gave  the  particu 
lars  for  the  next  night,  and  so  on. 

Each  play  had  a  synopsis  which  was  very 
interesting.  The  one  for  "Sentenced  for  Life" 
went  like  this: 

ACT  I. — Palatial  home  of  Gregory  Pulvers.  "Jack, 
what  does  this  mean?"  "This  check  is  a  forgery." 
"Old  man,  you  know  you  lie!"  "Leave  this  house 
forever."  "My  daughter  shall  never  wed  a  forger." 
' '  The  fatal  bio w ."  EnterM. ar j orie .  "  H ea ven s ,  J ack , 
what  have  you  done!"  "Forgive  me.  It  was  all  a 
mistake."  "Good-bye."  "Halt!  You  are  under  ar 
rest."  Curtain. 

ACT  II. — -"How  do  you  plead,  prisoner?"  "Not 
guilty."  The  veiled  woman  in  the  court  -  room. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Where  is  Marjorie  Pulvers?"  The  missing  witness. 
The  veiled  woman  discloses  her  identity.  "It  is  my 
duty  to  testify,  Jack."  "Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  have 
you  determined  upon  a  verdict?"  "Guilty."  Sen 
tenced  for  life.  Curtain. 

ACT  III. — Outside  the  walls  of  Sing  Sing.  The  se 
cret  message.  Inside  the  walls.  Jack  in  the  stripes. 
The  attempt  at  escape.  "  Out  of  my  way!"  "  Halt, 
or  you  are  a  dead  man!"  "  Better  dead  than  here  for 
life!"  The  shot.  "Boys,  be  warned  by  my  career." 
Tableau  and  Curtain. 

I  read  the  synopses  of  the  shows  first,  and 
then  began  getting  up  the  titles  and  the  casts 
of  characters.  I  was  working  on  the  "Sen 
tenced  for  Life"  programme  when  I  came  to 
the  name  of  the  actor  who  was  to  play  Jack. 
I  could  hardly  believe  what  I  saw.  I  took  the 
copy  to  the  Emigger  and  showed  it  to  him. 

He  looked  at  it  for  a  minute,  then  hit  the 
table  with  his  fist. 

"So  that's  the  explanation!"  he  said. 

The  line  I  showed  him  read: 

"  Jack  Simmons  (sentenced  for  life) — 

"ARTHUR  KEENE  BRANTHORPE." 

"Find  Oscar  for  me,"  the  Emigger  said.  It 
wasn't  much  trouble  to  get  hold  of  Oscar,  and 
I  brought  him  to  the  office. 

"Oscar,"  the  Emigger  said  to  him,  "I  want 
you  to  do  some  real  detective  work  for  me, 
146 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

and  I  want  you  to  keep  it  to  yourself.  You 
remember  this  man  Branthorpe  who  was  here 
trying  to  get  up  a  show  last  spring?" 

"Yes,  sir.  You  mean  the  actor  that  got 
Annie  Davis  to  run  away." 

"I  mean  Branthorpe,"  said  the  Emigger, 
frowning.  "I  want  you  to  find  out  for  me 
when  he  comes  to  town.  If  you  can,  watch 
the  trains,  and  the  minute  he  sets  foot  in  this 
town  you  keep  your  eagle  eye  on  him.  Keep 
watch  of  all  his  movements  and  report  to  me 
as  often  as  you  can." 

"All  right,  sir." 

"And  I'll  pay  you  for  your  trouble." 

Oscar  threw  back  his  shoulders  and  walked 
out  mysteriously. 


XVI 

OSCAR  located  Branthorpe  the  minute  he 
stepped  from  the  train.  He  reached  town 
Sabbath  afternoon  with  the  rest  of  the  troupe. 
There  were  ten  in  the  company,  four  men  and 
six  women.  There  was  one  big,  fat  woman 
and  five  others  of  different  sizes.  Two  of  the 
younger  ones  had  real  fluffy,  yellow  hair,  and 
each  of  them  led  little  dogs  by  chains.  Bran 
thorpe  swaggered  up  street  ahead  of  them. 
The  other  three  men  were  very  nice  -  looking 
fellows;  and  so  was  Branthorpe,  but  he  had 
more  of  a  flashy  look  about  him.  On  the  way 
to  the  hotel  he  stopped  to  speak  to  Squire 
Miller,  who  did  not  see  Branthorpe 's  hand  when 
he  held  it  out. 

"Back  here  for  your  health?"  the  Squire 
asked. 

"No.     My  company  plays  here  this  week." 

"  Hope  you  give  as  good  a  show  as  you  gave 
last  spring,"  said  the  Squire,  going  on  down 
street. 

Branthorpe  got  red,  and  one  of  the  actors  with 
148 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

him  snickered.  It  looked  as  if  Branthorpe  had 
been  bragging  about  what  an  important  man  he 
would  be  here.  Oscar  followed  the  company  to 
the  hotel,  then  hurried  down  to  Mrs.  Lancaster's 
and  told  the  Emigger  that  Branthorpe  had  ar 
rived. 

"Keep  your  eye  on  him,"  the  Emigger 
said. 

So  Oscar  came  to  our  house  and  got  my 
folks  to  let  me  go  with  him,  and  we  went  to 
the  hotel  and  sat  in  the  big  chairs  out  in  front 
and  watched  for  Branthorpe.  Before  long  the 
two  frizzly  haired  girls  came  out  with  their 
little  dogs  and  two  of  the  actors,  and  said  they 
believed  they  would  take  a  walk. 

"Isn't  it  a  quaint  little  place?"  asked  one  of 
them. 

"Yes,  and  the  local  characters  are  so  funny," 
said  the  other. 

"Cut  it  out,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "You'll 
queer  the  show  if  you  talk  that  way." 

They  strolled  up  street,  and  then  Branthorpe 
and  the  other  man  came  out.  The  other  man 
lit  a  cigar  and  sat  down,  but  Branthorpe  stood 
and  fidgeted  around  a  little  while.  Pretty  soon 
he  saw  Oscar  and  me. 

"Why,  hello!"  he  said.  "Isn't  this  the 
Thompson  boy?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

149 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  thought  I  remembered  you.  How's  ev 
erything?" 

"Everything  is  all  right." 

"Not  much  change  since  I  was  here  last," 
Branthorpe  said. 

"I  suppose  not." 

"Say,  come  over  this  way  a  minute,"  he  said 
to  me.  "I  want  to  get  you  to  do  something 
for  me." 

He  led  the  way  up  street  a  little  piece,  then 
asked  me,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Isn't  Annie  Davis  home  again?" 

"Yes,  she  is,"  I  told  him,  wondering  why  he 
should  ask  me. 

"How  long  has  she  been  home?" 

"A  little  while." 

"You  know  her  pretty  well,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  if  there  is  a  quarter 
in  it  for  you?" 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"  Just  take  this  note  down  to  her  house  and 
hand  it  to  her.  Be  sure  that  nobody  else  gets 
it,  and  come  right  back  to  me." 

"I  couldn't  do  it,  Mr.  Branthorpe,"  I  said, 
trying  to  think  of  an  excuse  that  would  sound 
reasonable. 

"Can't  do  it?"  he  said,  holding  the  note  in 
one  hand  and  some  money  in  the  other. 
150 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"No,  I  haven't  got  time." 

"Rats!  You've  got  lots  of  time.  It  won't 
take  you  but  a  minute." 

"  I  can't  just  the  same,"  I  said,  edging  away. 
"I  don't  want  to  get  into  trouble." 

"  Thunder !     You  won't  get  into  any  trouble. ' ' 

"I  might,"  I  answered,  turning  to  go  back 
where  Oscar  wras. 

"All  right.  You  needn't  take  it  then,  you 
little  fool." 

Then  Branthorpe  started  up  street  alone. 
Oscar  got  up  from  his  chair  in  a  minute,  crossed 
the  street,  and  went  up  the  other  side.  I  was 
going  along  with  him  and  telling  him  what 
Branthorpe  wanted  me  to  do,  when  he  said: 

"You  duck  away,  Johnny.  If  he  sees  us 
together  he  will  know  we  are  shadowing  him. 
You  wait  at  the  bridge  for  me." 

So  I  went  to  the  bridge  and  waited,  chucking 
stones  into  the  creek  and  fooling  around  for  a 
long  time  until  Oscar  came  back. 

"He's  at  the  hotel  again,"  Oscar  told  me. 

"Where  did  he  walk  to?" 

"  All  over  town  pretty  near,  but  finally  he 
loafed  around  through  the  side  streets  and 
sauntered  along  in  front  of  Davis's  house,  look 
ing  into  the  windows,  and  going  so  slow  he 
hardly  seemed  to  move." 

"Was  Annie  in  sight?" 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"No." 

We  went  back  to  Lancaster's  and  told  the 
Emigger  about  it,  and  he  said  Oscar  had  better 
keep  his  eyes  on  Branthorpe  for  a  while  that 
evening. 

Annie  and  her  folks  came  to  church  that 
night,  and  the  Emigger  sat  with  them.  I 
walked  out  behind  them,  and  as  we  were  going 
down  the  steps  Oscar  squeezed  through  the 
crowd  and  tugged  at  the  Emigger's  sleeve. 
The  Emigger  stopped  and  Oscar  and  he  stood 
at  one  side  of  the  steps,  and  Oscar  began  whis 
pering  something.  I  walked  on  down  the 
steps  and  to  the  street  behind  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Davis  and  Annie.  Just  as  they  were  turning 
to  go  towards  home,  Branthorpe  stepped  up 
to  them  and  held  out  his  hand  and  bowed  to 
Annie. 

"Why,  Miss  Davis,"  he  said,  "it  surely  is  a 
pleasure  to  meet  you  again." 

Annie  looked  at  him  and  then  got  white, 
and  took  hold  of  her  father's  arm  and  hurried 
on  without  a  word.  Branthorpe  swore  under 
his  breath  and  followed  along  behind  them. 
I  kept  about  half  a  block  from  him,  and  before 
long  Oscar  caught  up  with  me.  We  ducked 
along  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  and  watched 
Branthorpe.  We  thought  he  would  follow  the 
Davises  home,  but  instead  he  went  straight  to 
152 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

the  hotel.  Oscar  and  I  waited  until  the  Emig- 
ger  came  down -town,  and  Oscar  reported  to 
him.  He  said  that  would  be  all  that  Oscar 
needed  to  do  that  evening,  but  if  he  had  the 
time  Monday  he  might  keep  on  the  trail,  but 
not  to  let  it  keep  him  from  school. 

After  school  the  next  afternoon,  when  I  got 
to  the  office,  the  Emigger  and  Mr.  Bashford 
were  talking  about  Branthorpe.  It  appeared 
that  he  had  paraded  up  and  down  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Davis 's  house  all  day  nearly,  and 
that  his  actions  were  causing  a  whole  lot  of 
comment.  The  Emigger  was  mad  as  a  hornet 
over  it,  but  said  he  didn't  see  what  he  could 
do  to  stop  Branthorpe.  He  had  seen  Annie, 
and  she  had  been  frightened  half  to  death  by 
Branthorpe 's  actions.  She  was  afraid  of  the 
man,  and  didn't  dare  to  come  out  of  the  house, 
the  Emigger  said. 

"  Branthorpe  is  in  front  of  the  hotel  brag 
ging  about  himself,"  Oscar  said,  coming  into 
the  office.  "He  is  talking  with  several  of  the 
men  that  usually  loaf  down  around  there,  and 
I  heard  him  mention  Annie  Davis 's  name 
several  times." 

The  Emigger  began  chewing  his  mustache, 
and  then  without  saying  a  word  he  got  up, 
slammed  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  started  out. 
Oscar  followed  him. 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  Johnny," 
Mr.  Bashford  said,  "we  may  have  to  print  a 
column  or  so  casualties  this  week.  My  re 
spected  partner  is  getting  into  a  Virginia  mood. ' ' 

Oscar  told  me  that  night  about  what  hap 
pened  when  the  Emigger  joined  the  crowd  in 
front  of  the  hotel.  He  said  that  the  Emigger 
pulled  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  and  didn't 
seem  to  be  paying  much  attention  to  what 
Branthorpe  was  saying  —  just  lighted  a  cigar 
and  sat  there  as  if  he  had  nothing  else  to  do. 
But  pretty  soon  Branthorpe  looked  sort  of 
wise  and  laughed  without  saying  anything, 
when  some  one  said  there  had  been  considerable 
excitement  after  he  was  here  before.  The 
Emigger  straightened  up  in  his  chair  then. 
Branthorpe  smiled  some  more,  then  said: 

"Well,  I'm  not  responsible  for  all  the  talk 
that  has  been  indulged  in." 

"I  suppose,"  Ike  Peters  said,  "that  fellows 
like  you,  travelling  around  the  country  all  the 
time,  have  a  lot  of  affairs  with  women?" 

"Oh,  a  few,"  Branthorpe  replied,  tilting  his 
chair  back  against  the  wall. 

"Get  'em  so  stuck  on  you  that  they  follow 
you  away,  huh?"  Ike  snickered. 

"Once  in  a  while,"  Branthorpe  grinned. 

Nobody  said  anything  then,  and  Branthorpe 
sort  of  sneered : 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Then  they  go  back  home  and  put  up  a 
good  story  to  fool  the  old  folks." 

At  this  the  Emigger  leaned  over  towards 
him  and  said,  in  a  soft,  polite  voice: 

"Will  you  be  so  obliging,  sir,  as 'to  explain 
that  remark?" 

"What?  I  don't  know  that  I  need  to  make 
any  explanations  to  you." 

"You  will  change  your  mind  mighty  quick, 
unless  you  have  changed  it  already.  What 
did  you  mean  by  that?" 

"You  can  take  it  any  way  you  like,"  said 
Branthorpe,  blustering  because  he  thought  the 
crowd  was  on  his  side. 

"It  may  be  difficult,  sir,  for  you  to  under 
stand  that  this  community  has  a  few  high 
ideals  concerning  its  daughters,"  the  Emigger 
went  on,  in  that  soft,  soothing  voice  of  his; 
"but  such  is  the  case.  Without  mentioning 
any  names  at  this  moment,  I  wish  to  inquire 
whether  the  young  lady  you  mentioned  a 
while  ago,  or  who  was  mentioned  by  some  one 
else,  is  in  the  class  of  those  you  speak  of  as 
coming  home  with  a  story  that  will  fool  the 
old  folks?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  have  any  right,  Mr. 
What's -your -name,  to  cross  -  question  me," 
Branthorpe  replied,  still  very  smartly. 

"My  name,  sir,  is  Asbury  Dabney  Colqu- 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

houn,  late  of  Red  Gap,  Virginia.  I  don't 
know  what  your  name  is,  but  I  do  know  the 
one  you  are  going  under  now.  ^  I  don't  care 
about  that,  but  I  shall  put  it  plainly,  and  you 
must  answer  me  plainly:  Did  you  see  Miss 
Davis  at  all  after  you  left  here?" 

Branthorpe  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
twitched  in  his  chair,  and  then  he  happened  to 
look  square  into  the  Emigger's  eyes.  Oscar 
said  he  never  saw  a  man  whose  eyes  could  look 
as  piercing  and  blazing  as  the  Emigger's  were 
then.  Branthorpe  gulped  once  or  twice. 

"Did  you,  or  did  you  not?"  the  Ernigger 
asked,  half  rising. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  Branthorpe  said,  sulkily. 

"I  knew,  sir,  you  were  a  liar  when  I  first 
saw  you." 

Branthorpe  jumped  up  from  his  chair  at  that. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

The  Emigger  got  up  and  straightened  out 
his  arm  and  shook  his  finger  in  Branthorpe 's 
face. 

"You  are  a  liar,  sir,  and  a  poltroon,  and  a 
coward.  Any  man  who  will  slur  and  insult 
women  as  you  do  is  a  pup  and  a  scoundrel. 
You  have  been  trying  to  cast  a  doubt  on  the 
good  name  of  one  of  our  young  women,  and  I 
do  not  propose  to  let  it  go  unresented." 

Branthorpe  got  kind  of  green  in  the  face, 
J56 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

then  his  eyes  gleamed  viciously,  and  he  mut 
tered  : 

"She  did  her  best  to  get  me  to  cast  the 
doubt—" 

"Stop  right  there!"  the  Emigger  ordered, 
and  Branthorpe  shut  up  like  a  clam.  "Now, 
sir,  I've  let  you  escape  once  from  me.  I'll 
make  it  twice.  There  isn't  room  in  this  town 
for  you  and  me.  One  of  us  is  going  to  leave 
here  inside  of  an  hour.  Do  you  understand 
that?" 

"You  can't  drive  me  away." 

"I'm  not  going  to  drive  you  away.  I'm 
going  to  kill  you.  If  you  are  not  out  of  this 
town  inside  of  an  hour  I'll  shoot  you  like  a 
dog." 

"Don't  you  threaten  me.  I'll  have  the 
law—" 

"That  isn't  a  threat,  sir;  it  is  a  promise. 
There  isn't  any  law  to  take  care  of  you.  It's 
five  o'clock  now.  I'll  come  after  you  at  six, 
and  if  you  are  not  gone  I  will  send  you  where 
you  belong." 

Then  the  Emigger  turned  and  left  him,  and 
Branthorpe  stood  there  wiping  his  face  with 
his  handkerchief  and  trying  to  bluster  out 
something.  But  the  fellows  that  had  been 
listening  to  him  got  up  one  by  one  and  moved 
off  up  and  down  street,  and  in  a  few  minutes 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

he  had  the  whole  front  of  the  hotel  to  himself. 
Then  he  went  inside. 

The  Emigger  came  back  to  the  office,  went 
to  his  desk  without  saying  a  word,  pulled  the 
bottom  drawer  out,  reached  away  back  in  it, 
and  took  out  a  revolver.  It  wasn't  like  the 
revolvers  they  sell  at  the  hardware  store.  They 
are  bright  and  nickel-plated.  This  one  was 
bigger  than  any  one  of  them,  and  it  was  black. 
The  Emigger  bent  the  barrel  down,  knocked 
the  cartridges  out  on  his  desk,  and  rubbed  the 
revolver  with  his  handkerchief,  blowing  through 
the  chambers  and  the  barrel  and  polishing  it 
as  carefully  as  if  it  had  been  a  wratch.  Then 
he  slipped  the  cartridges  in  it  again  and 
dropped  it  in  his  hip-pocket. 

"When  does  the  war  begin?"  Mr.  Bashford 
asked.  He  had  been  sitting  there  watching 
the  Emigger  curiously. 

"At  six  o'clock.  Bashford,  I've  made  forty 
kinds  of  a  fool  of  myself,  but  Branthorpe 
brought  it  on  himself.  I  told  him  I'd  shoot 
him  up  if  he  didn't  leave  town." 

"Don't  worry.     He'll  leave." 

"  Well,  maybe  so,"  the  Emigger  said.  "  But," 
he  added,  "I  hope  he  doesn't.  It  would  be 
my  finish  here,  but  I'd  go  satisfied  if  I  could 
settle  him." 


XVII 

THE  Emigger  sat  at  his  desk  then,  and 
tugged  at  his  mustache  and  thought. 
He  took  some  paper  and  a  pen  and  ink  and 
wrote  a  letter,  put  it  in  an  envelope,  and  ad 
dressed  it.  Then  he  wrote  another  letter  and 
addressed  it.  He  put  the  letters  in  front  of 
him  and  sat  and  looked  at  the  top  of  his  desk 
for  a  long  time. 

"Johnny,"  he  called  to  me. 

I  came  up  to  him,  and  he  showed  me  the 
two  envelopes. 

"I'll  leave  these  letters  here,"  he  said, 
"when  I  go  out.  Maybe  you'll  have  to  mail 
them." 

One  of  them  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Isabel 
Colquhoun,  Red  Gap,  Virginia;  the  other  one 
to  Annie  Davis. 

"You  seem  to  take  this  little  affair  pretty 
seriously,  Colquhoun,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"It  may  prove  serious." 

"  I  guess  not.  You  run  that  fellow  once, 
didn't  you?" 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Yes,  but  this  time  it's  different." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  He's  got  a  yellow  streak 
in  him  a  yard  wide." 

"  I  know  it,  but  a  rat  in  a  corner  will  fight. 
I  wish  I  hadn't  said  what  I  did.  Not  that  I 
care  a  rap  what  he  thinks,  but  I  wish  I  hadn't 
shown  that  side  of  my  nature  here.  Bashford, 
I'm  a  fool." 

Mr.  Bashford  looked  at  the  Emigger  for 
about  a  minute,  then  pinched  a  chew  of  fine- 
cut  from  the  sack  of  tobacco  on  his  desk,  and 
said: 

"I'm  another.  If  you  don't  go  after  that 
fellow  at  six  o'clock,  I  will." 

I  was  through  with  work  for  that  evening, 
anyway,  so  I  stepped  to  the  front-door  of  the 
office  and  looked  down  street.  Ordinarily,  at 
that  time  of  the  day,  everybody  is  moving 
towards  home,  but  nobody  seemed  in  any 
hurry  to  get  supper  that  night.  In  fact,  more 
people  were  coming  down-town  than  are  usual 
ly  in  sight  at  that  time.  As  they  passed  the 
office  they  would  look  in  and  see  the  Emigger 
sitting  at  his  desk.  He  had  his  feet  up  on  the 
top  of  it  now,  and  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
laughing  and  talking  with  Mr.  Bashford  as  if 
he  had  entirely  forgotten  what  he  had  threat 
ened  to  do. 

"If  I  were  you,"  Mr.  Bashford  said,  "I  don't 
160 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

believe  I  would  carry  that  artillery  with  me 
when  I  went  after  Branthorpe." 

"You  wouldn't?" 

"No.  It's  like  hunting  quail  with  a  can 
non." 

"I  ought  to  be  kicked  for  threatening  to 
shoot  him." 

"  No.  That  was  all  right.  Really,  he  ought 
to  be  shot.  But  you  don't  need  to  lug  that 
mountain  howitzer  with  you." 

"Why?" 

"Leave  it  here  in  the  office  and  go  down 
towards  the  hotel  at  six  o'clock.  If  you  meet 
him,  whip  him  with  your  fists.  But  you  won't 
meet  him." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  I  hope  I 
won't — but  I'm  afraid  I  won't." 

The  Emigger  laughed,  and  so  did  Mr.  Bash- 
ford.  Then  Mr.  Bashford  said: 

"Now,  see  here.  Let  me  take  that  gun  and 
walk  down  street  behind  you.  If  you  need 
the  gun  I'll  use  it.  I — you  sec,  Colquhoun,  I 
don't  want  you  to  do  it,  if  it  has  to  be  done. 
It  won't  make  so  much  difference  if  I  do  it, 
but  you've  got  to  establish  a  footing  here. 
The  people  won't  mind  it  if  I  do  a  little  shoot 
ing,  but  they  may  think  you  are  too  presumpt 
uous  for  a  new  citizen,  comparatively.  I've 
been  here  so  long  they  don't  care  what  I  do. 
161 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

And  nobody  will  feel  badly  over  any  little  lapse 
in  decorum  on  my  part." 

"But  somebody  will,  and  you  know  it,  Bash- 
ford." 

"No.  Now,  as  a  favor  to  me,  let  me  have 
the  gun." 

The  Emigger  slowly  took  the  revolver  from 
his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Bashford,  who 
looked  it  over  carefully,  and  tried  its  weight 
in  his  hand,  then  dropped  it  in  the  side-pocket 
of  his  coat. 

"The  last  time  I  used  that  gun,"  the  Emigger 
said,  "was  when  Pinkney  Sanger  waylaid  me 
back  at  Red  Gap.  I  got  a  tip  of  his  left  ear 
that  time." 

"That  was  the  time  you  and  he  had  the  dis 
pute  because  his  grandfather's  mule  kicked 
your  grandfather,  or  words  to  that  effect?" 

"Yes.  A  man  and  a  gun  are  a  fool  com 
bination." 

The  Emigger  began  studying  again  and 
drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  desk.  One 
of  the  Eldridge  boys  that  live  next  to  the 
Davises  came  in  with  a  note  for  him.  He  gave 
the  boy  a  dime,  told  him  to  run  along,  and 
looked  at  the  address  of  the  note.  Then  he 
laid  it  on  the  desk  and  said  he  would  open  it 
later  in  the  evening.  I  could  guess  it  was  from 
Annie  Davis. 

162 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

I  put  on  my  hat  and  slipped  out,  leaving  Mr. 
Bashford  and  the  Emigger  still  talking.  I  ran 
into  Oscar  down  on  the  corner  and  we  went 
down  to  the  hotel.  On  the  way  we  saw  people 
standing  in  the  doorways  of  the  stores  and 
sitting  in  their  front  yards.  Evidently  they 
had  all  learned  of  the  possibility  of  a  fight  be 
tween  the  Emigger  and  Branthorpe.  I  could 
understand  now  why  he  was  calling  himself  a 
fool  for  having  made  the  threat  he  did.  Every 
little  bunch  of  men  we  passed  was  discussing 
him,  and  going  over  the  circumstances  of  his 
coming  here,  and  they  were  guessing  at  his 
past  history.  Some  of  them,  too,  were  saying 
that  he  was  only  bluffing,  and  others  were  de 
claring  that  he  wasn't,  that  he  would  do  what 
he  had  said  he  would. 

Branthorpe  was  sitting  in  front  of  the  hotel 
smoking  a  cigar,  and  looking  as  if  it  was  his 
first  and  was  making  him  sick.  Three  or  four 
men  were  there,  and  he  was  trying  to  talk  un 
concerned  to  them.  But  he  was  doing  a  poor 
job  at  it.  There  was  a  horse  and  buggy 
hitched  in  front  of  the  hotel.  It  belonged  to 
some  one  from  the  country  who  had  driven  to 
town  for  something  or  other. 

Ike  Peters  happened  along  and  stopped  in 
front  of  Branthorpe. 

''Bad  fellow  you're  up  against,"  he  said. 
163 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Oh,  I  guess  not." 

"Fact.  He's  a  bad  man.  I  hear  tell  that 
down  in  Virginny,  where  he  come  from,  he 
was  a  shooter  from  Shootersville." 

"He  may  find  out  that  I  came  from  the 
same  town,"  Branthorpe  replied,  trying  to 
look  careless  and  indifferent. 

"Mebbe  so,  but  I'd  hate  to  be  in  your  shoes. 
You  may  be  from  Shootersville,  but  he's  the 
oldest  inhabitant  from  there,"  said  Ike,  laugh 
ing  that  wheezy  laugh  of  his. 

"Well,  what  is  it  to  you?"  Branthorpe  asked, 
getting  mad.  "What  are  you  butting  in  for? 
Who  asked  you  for  your  opinion?" 

"Nobody,  and  nobody's  getting  it."  Then 
Ike  walked  across  the  street  and  sat  on  the 
curb  and  began  whistling  "Just  Before  the 
Battle,  Mother." 

Ira  Growley  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  chairs 
in  front  of  the  hotel.  He  took  out  his  watch 
and  looked  at  it,  then  snapped  the  lid  shut  with 
a  loud  click. 

"Time's  getting  short,"  he  said. 

Branthorpe  licked  his  lips  with  his  tongue 
to  get  them  wet  enough  for  him  to  speak,  and 
then  asked: 

"What  time  is  it?"  His  voice  sounded  as  if 
his  throat  was  dry. 

"  Five  minutes  to  six — or  was  when  I  looked." 
164 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Branthorpe  hitched  his  chair  out  to  where 
he  could  see  the  Chronicle  office  by  turning  his 
head,  and  then  he  caught  sight  of  Oscar  and 
me. 

"What  are  you  kids  doing  here?"  he  asked 
us.  "You've  been  hanging  around  me  ever 
since  I  came  to  town." 

"Guess  they  want  to  learn  how  to  act," 
Growley  said. 

"Who  asked  you  to  butt  in,  you  rube?" 
Branthorpe  snapped  at  Growley. 

"Say,  young  fellow,  you're  going  to  have 
one  good  fight  on  your  hands  in  about  three 
minutes.  I  don't  think  you  want  to  look  for 
any  more." 

Branthorpe  muttered  something  and  looked 
nervously  up  the  street.  Nobody  said  any 
thing.  The  two  frizzly  haired  actresses  came 
and  looked  out  of  the  ladies'  entrance  of  the 
hotel.  One  of  their  little  dogs  ran  out,  and 
one  of  the  girls  rushed  out  and  caught  it  and 
carried  it  in,  saying: 

"I  won't  let  Toto  get  shot." 

Branthorpe  squirmed  at  that.  The  other 
three  men  of  the  company  were  in  the  hotel 
office,  talking  together  in  low  tones  and  look 
ing  out  at  Branthorpe  occasionally.  Every 
thing  got  still.  The  people  all  the  way  up  and 
down  Main  Street  stopped  talking  to  one  an- 

165 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

other.  Oscar  and  I  were  standing  at  the 
hitching-post  in  front  of  the  hotel.  I  could 
see  the  folks  in  front  of  the  stores  look  first 
towards  the  Chronicle  office,  and  then  towards 
the  hotel.  It  seemed  like  everybody  was  get 
ting  nervous.  Oscar  whispered  to  me: 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  come  ?" 

I  only  looked  at  him.  Then  the  clock  in  the 
office  of  the  hotel  began  to  buzz  like  it  always 
does  just  before  it  strikes.  Then — 

Dong!     Dong!     Dong!     It  began  striking. 

Branthorpe  jumped  up  from  his  chair  and 
looked  up  street  towards  the  office.  Every 
body  else  was  looking  the  same  way.  The 
clock  went  on  striking.  And  then  out  of  the 
door  of  the  Chronicle  office  came  the  Emigger. 
His  hat  was  set  down  over  his  eyes  a  little  bit 
and  his  coat-tails  flapped  from  side  to  side  as 
he  walked.  He  didn't  look  to  right  nor  left,  but 
came  straight  ahead,  not  seeing  any  one.  As 
he  came  along  the  sidewalk  the  men  stepped 
to  each  side  of  the  street  and  gave  him  room. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  them.  Back  of  him 
walked  Mr.  Bashford,  his  little  brown  derby 
hat  tilted  over  to  one  side.  He  had  his  hands 
in  his  coat-pockets  and  kept  looking  our  way 
continually. 

"He's  coming!  Here  he  comes!"  some  one 
shouted. 

166 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Then  somebody  brushed  past  Oscar  and  me, 
knocking  us  off  the  sidewalk.  We  whirled 
around  to  look,  and  it  was  Branthorpe.  He 
had  his  knife  in  his  hand.  He  slashed  at  the 
hitching-strap  of  the  horse,  cut  it  loose,  jumped 
into  the  buggy,  whacked  the  horse  with  the 
whip,  and  went  galloping  across  the  railroad 
and  out  into  the  country. 

The  Emigger  stopped,  laughed  to  himself, 
and  turned  around  and  went  back  to  the  office, 
with  Mr.  Bashford  walking  beside  him,  saying, 
"I  told  you  so."  The  people  stood  in  their 
tracks  for  a  while,  and  then  scattered  out  home 
talking  about  the  affair.  The  man  that  owned 
the  horse  and  buggy  ran  up  to  the  hitching- 
post  and  took  the  cut  end  of  the  hitching-strap 
in  his  hand  and  looked  at  it,  then  down  the 
street  in  the  direction  Branthorpe  had  gone, 
then  up  the  street  towards  the  Chronicle  office, 
then  he  turned  to  me  and  Oscar  and  said: 

"Well,  if  that  ain't  the  beatin'est  trick  I 
ever  saw!" 


XVIII 

I  HURRIED  up  and  got  to  the  office  about 
the  same  time  as  Mr.  Bashford  and  the 
Emigger.  Mr.  Bashford  was  chuckling  to  him 
self,  but  the  Emigger  was  thoughtful. 

"That's  the  first  and  the  worst  bluff  I  ever 
made,"  he  said.  "Always  when  I've  told  a 
man  I  was  coming  for  him  with  a  gun,  I  could 
show  the  goods.  It  wasn't  right.  It  wasn't 
fair.  That  fellow  thought  I  had  my  weapons 
or  he  wouldn't  have  run.  I'm  ashamed  of 
myself." 

"Well,  I'm  in  the  same  boat,"  Mr.  Bashford 
said.  He  opened  his  desk,  and  there  lay  the 
Emigger 's  revolver. 

"What!  You  didn't  take  it  along?"  the 
Emigger  asked. 

"  No.  As  soon  as  you  started  out  I  put  it  in 
here  and  closed  the  desk." 

The  Emigger  dropped  in  his  chair  and  looked 
at  the  revolver  and  then  at  Mr.  Bashford  and 
then  at  me. 

"If  this  don't  beat  my  time,"  he  said. 
168 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Bashford,  you've  got  sand.  Now,  I  felt  all 
right  because  I  thought  you  were  back  of  me 
with  that  weapon.  But  you  —  well,  you've 
got  nerve,  sir;  you've  got  pure  nerve.  I  ad 
mire  you  more  than  ever." 

"I  had  nerve,"  said  Mr.  Bashford,  "because 
I  knew  what  Branthorpe  would  do." 

The  Emigger  took  his  revolver  and  put  it 
in  the  top  drawer  of  his  desk. 

Just  then  the  manager  of  the  show  company 
came  in. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  thank 
you  for  inducing  Branthorpe  to  resign  his 
position  with  my  company.  I  was  going  to 
discharge  him  this  week,  anyhow." 

"The  pleasure  is  all  ours,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"But  about  that  horse  and  buggy  he  took. 
Is  there  likely  to  be  any  trouble  for  me  over 
that?" 

"Oh  no.  He'll  probably  drive  to  Kensing 
ton  and  leave  it  there  when  he  takes  a  train. 
We'll  hear  from  it."  Which  was  just  what 
happened. 

"I'm  glad  Branthorpe  has  gone,"  the  man 
ager  went  on  then.  "You  see,  he  got  into  my 
company  on  false  pretences.  He  isn't  an  actor 
at  all.  He's  a  disgrace  to  the  profession.  I 
find  that  he  has  never  been  connected  with  a 
company  for  more  than  two  weeks,  and  that 
12  169 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

most  of  his  experience  has  been  gained  from 
getting  up  amateur  performances.  There  are 
some  good  men  doing  that,  though,  but  Bran- 
thorpe  is  not  one  of  them.  He  is  a  vain,  con 
ceited,  unprincipled  cuss,  and  we  are  better  off 
without  him." 

"  But  how  will  you  play  to-night  without  him 
in  the  cast?"  Mr.  Bashford  inquired. 

"That's  easy.  Mr.  Telfair  will  double  his 
part  in  the  plays  we  will  put  on  here.  I  hope 
you'll  be  out  to  see  our  performance  to-night." 

"I'll  be  there,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"And  you?"  the  manager  asked  the  Em- 
igger. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  but  in  view  of  the  hap 
penings  of  the  last  half-hour  it  might  be  that 
I'd  be  more  of  a  show  than  the  play  would  be, 
so  I  shall  be  compelled  to  forego  the  pleasure 
of—" 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  aren't  you  one  of  the 
Virginia  Colquhouns?" 

I  pretty  near  laughed  at  that.  It  was  the 
first  time  any  one  had  put  such  a  question  to 
the  Emigger.  Always  he  was  asking  other 
people  if  they  weren't  connected  with  the 
Virginia  So-and-sos. 

"  I  am,  sir.  I  am  Asbury  Dabney  Colqu- 
houn,  late  of— 

"From  good  old  Red  Gap!  Dab,  don't  you 
170 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

remember  me?  I'm  Courtland  Gooch — but 
my  name  on  the  bills  is  Sidney  Lee." 

"Court  Gooch!  Well,  by  the  great  horn 
spoon,  I  never  would  have  known  you!  Set 
down;  set  down!" 

Then  they  began  talking.  It  seemed  that 
Mr.  Gooch  was  raised  in  the  next  county  to 
the  Emigger,  and  that  they  had  had  a  lot  of 
fun  together  when  they  were  boys,  and  they 
certainly  were  awful  glad  to  see  each  other. 

"When  I  heard  of  the  row  Branthorpe  had 
gotten  into,  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  must  be 
up  against  some  one  from  my  end  of  the  coun 
try,"  Mr.  Gooch  laughed.  "It  reminded  me 
of  the  days  when  you  and  Pinkey  Sanger  used 
to  take  shots  at  each  other.  How  did  that 
ever  wind  up?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  forgotten  now.  I  haven't 
seen  Pink  for  a  long  time." 

It  ended  in  Mr.  Gooch  going  to  Mrs.  Lan 
caster's  boarding-house  to  eat  supper  with  the 
Emigger,  and  people  on  the  street  were  more 
surprised  than  ever  to  see  the  Emigger  walking 
down  street  arm  in  arm  with  the  manager  of 
the  company,  when  they  mostly  had  an  im 
pression  that  he  was  unhappy  if  he  couldn't 
shoot  an  actor  every  chance  he  got. 

The  opera-house  was  crowded  that  night. 
The  affair  with  Branthorpe  turned  out  to  be  a 

171 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

bigger  advertisement  for  the  show  than  any 
thing  else  could  have  been.  The  manager 
hunted  up  Hiram  Flood,  whose  horse  and  buggy 
had  been  taken  by  Branthorpe,  gave  him  passes 
for  himself  and  wife,  who  was  with  him,  and 
took  them  into  the  show.  Before  the  perform 
ance  was  over  he  sent  word  to  Hiram  that  his 
horse  and  buggy  had  been  found  in  Kensing 
ton,  and  were  being  brought  back  at  the  ex 
pense  of  the  show  company. 

Oscar  and  I  sat  together  down  in  front  and 
enjoyed  the  performance.  You  know  "  East 
Lynne  "  is  a  pretty  sad  sort  of  a  show,  but  there 
are  a  few  funny  things  in  it.  It  is  very  im 
pressive,  though,  where  the  wedding  -  march 
plays  and  the  old  servant  says,  "Welcome  to 
East  Lynne,  Lady  Isabel."  Lizzie  Collins 
played  the  piano  for  the  overtures,  and  she 
came  in  just  right  at  the  sad  parts  with  soft 
music,  playing  "The  Maiden's  Prayer"  and 
"Flee  as  a  Bird,"  and  things  like  that.  In 
between  the  first  and  second  acts  she  played 
the  piece  about  a  thunder-storm  in  the  Alps, 
and  got  great  applause.  But  dramatic  per 
formances  are  queer.  Now,  for  instance,  the 
heavy-set  actress,  who  looked  old  enough  to 
be  the  mother  of  those  two  frizzly  haired  ac 
tresses,  played  a  pretty  young  girl  in  the  show. 

Just  before  the  performance  began  Mr.  Bash- 
172 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

ford  came  in,  all  dressed  up  in  his  best  clothes, 
and  looking  like  a  regular  dandy,  and  he  had 
Flora  Beavers  with  him.  They  had  seats 
pretty  well  down  in  front,  and  if  you  had  seen 
Mr.  Bashford  walking  down  the  aisle  ahead 
of  Flora,  holding  his  plug  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
stepping  along  so  dignified,  you  never  would 
have  thought  he  was  the  same  man  that  hunched 
over  his  desk  in  the  office  and  chewed  fine-cut 
and  wrote  things  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  I  watched 
him  once  in  a  while  during  the  evening,  and  I 
don't  really  believe  that  he  chewed  any  to 
bacco  at  all  during  the  show.  I  don't  see  how 
he  got  along  without  it.  Flora  Beavers  had 
on  her  new  black  net  dress  that  I  had  heard 
her  and  ma  talking  about  how  it  ought  to  be 
made,  and  she  had  a  flower  in  her  hair,  and  she 
looked  as  young  and  pretty  as  could  be.  I've 
always  noticed  that  whenever  a  woman  that 
is  called  an  old  maid  gets  a  beau  she  can  make 
you  forget  that  she  is  over  twenty-five  years 
old.  Pa  says  a  man  is  as  old  as  he  feels,  but 
a  woman  is  as  young  as  she  used  to  be,  what 
ever  that  means. 

Just  after  the  show  began,  something  hap 
pened  that  made  everybody  in  the  house  twist 
around  in  their  seats  and  look  back,  and  keep 
looking  until  the  people  they  were  watching 
had  taken  their  seats.  The  Emigger  came, 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

after  all,  with  Annie  Davis.  They  walked 
down  the  aisle  together,  Annie  holding  his  arm 
and  looking  like  the  pictures  you  see  of  angels. 
She  was  dressed  in  some  kind  of  a  white  dress 
that  sort  of  drifted  around  her  like  white  mist, 
and  under  that  there  was  another  dress  that 
had  roses  and  vines  on  it,  and  it  just  looked 
as  if  you  were  looking  at  a  beautiful  lot  of 
flowers  through  a  haze.  Annie  had  her  hair 
twisted  all  up  on  top  of  her  head,  and  she 
looked  almost  as  tall  as  the  Emigger,  and  there 
wasn't  any  collar  on  her  dress,  and  it  had  short 
sleeves.  I  thought  she  was  pretty  before, 
but  this  time  I  knew  I  had  never  even  guessed 
what  pretty  meant.  She  smiled  and  bowed  to 
several  people  that  bowed  to  her,  and  got  into 
her  seat  as  soon  as  possible.  The  Emigger 
looked  like  he  felt  mighty  proud  of  being  with 
her.  He  wore  his  best  black  prince  albert 
suit — but  he  didn't  have  a  plug  hat.  He  car 
ried  his  wide-brimmed  black  hat  in  his  hand. 
People  around  Oscar  and  me  were  whispering 
about  them  so  that  we  couldn't  hear  the  show. 

"They're  a  fine-looking  couple,"  Judge  Lam 
bert  said  to  his  wife. 

"He  is  so  noble  appearing,"  Mrs.  Lambert 
whispered. 

"Well,  she's  a  queen,  all  right,"  the  Judge 
laughed. 

i74 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Orphena  Green  and  Mrs.  Anderson  sat  be 
side  Oscar  and  me,  and  they  had  turned  around 
till  I  thought  their  backbones  would  squeak, 
watching  the  Emigger  and  Annie  until  they  sat 
down. 

"Annie  is  a  poem  imbued  with  life,"  Or 
phena  whispered. 

''  I  wonder  who  made  her  dress,"  Mrs.  Ander 
son  replied.  "  I  never  can  get  mine  to  set  that 
way  at  the  waist." 

Oscar  rubbered  back  at  them  for  a  while, 
and  then  said : 

"Say,  Johnny,  Mr.  Colquhoun's  got  the 
peach  of  them  all,  hasn't  he?  But  Mr.  Bash- 
ford's  girl  is  good-looking,  too." 

"They're  not  their  girls,"  I  said.  "They're 
only  friends." 

Oscar  cocked  his  eye  at  me  and  said: 
"Shucks!  You  never  could  see  anything." 

Then  we  commenced  watching  the  show 
again,  and  got  so  interested  in  it  that  we  didn't 
take  our  eyes  off  the  stage  any  more.  When 
the  show  was  out  people  sort  of  hung  back 
about  the  door  fixing  their  hats  and  wraps,  un 
til  Mr.  Bashford  and  Flora  Beavers  came  out, 
and  there  was  a  lot  of  whispering  as  they  went 
down  the  stairs;  then  when  the  Emigger  and 
Annie  came  along  a  good  many  people  shook 
hands  with  them  and  asked  about  their 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

health.  You  see,  it  was  the  first  time,  except 
to  go  to  church,  that  Annie  had  gone  any 
where,  and  folks  wanted  her  to  feel  that  they 
were  glad  to  see  her. 

Oscar  and  I  had  been  blocked  in  the  aisle, 
so  we  came  out  right  behind  Annie  and  the 
Emigger.  We  went  down  the  stairs  alongside 
of  them  and  he  asked  us  how  we  enjoyed  the 
show. 

"I  enjoyed  everything  I  saw,"  Oscar  said, 
and  winked  at  me.  The  Emigger  saw  him 
wink,  and  smiled  quietly  and  said: 

"By-the-way,  Mr.  Detective,  come  around 
to-morrow  and  we'll  settle  up  with  each  other. 
But  remember,  you  are  still  to  find  my  horse — 
old  Jeff." 

"And  when  you  find  Jeff  don't  let  him  get 
away  from  you,  Oscar,"  Annie  laughed,  as  they 
turned  at  the  door  and  started  home. 

Oscar  was  sore  about  what  Annie  said.  He 
thought  she  was  poking  fun  at  him. 

"Just  because  I  couldn't  get  her  to  come 
home  when  I  found  her  at  Oakville,  she  thinks 
she's  got  a  right  to  kid  me,"  he  growled.  "All 
right,  though.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  she 
wouldn't  be  here  to-night,  most  likely." 

I  had  to  agree  with  Oscar  that  he  was  right 
about  it. 

We  went  the  next  night  to  see  "Sentenced 
176 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

for  Life."  It  was  great.  In  the  last  act  the 
fellow  that  played  Jack  was  shot  while  he  was 
trying  to  escape  from  Sing  Sing,  and  he  turned 
over  after  he  died,  and  said: 

"Young  men,  beware  of  my  sad  fate.  Take 
warning  from  this  cruel  ending  of  a  misspent 
life,  and  keep  yourselves  in  the  straight  and 
narrow  path." 

Then  he  turned  back  and  died  again. 

"Bet  you  if  Colquhoun  had  got  a  shot  at 
Branthorpe  he  wouldn't  have  had  strength 
enough  to  make  any  farewell  speeches,"  Ira 
Growley  said  while  we  were  coming  out. 

"Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar-Room"  was  good,  and 
had  a  good  crowd.  All  the  church  people  that 
wouldn't  attend  the  other  plays,  because  they 
were  regular  theatre  shows,  came  out  to  it,  and 
Lafe  Skidmore  said  he  hoped  that  after  they 
had  seen  it  none  of  them  would  go  home  and 
throw  bottles  at  the  children  like  the  man  did 
on  the  stage. 

"It  was  the  best  opera  we've  had  since  the 
magic  -  lantern  show  was  here  in  the  lecture 
course,"  Tirzah  Harper  said. 

I  was  straightening  things  up  in  the  office 
the  evening  after  the  show  had  left  town,  and 
found  the  two  letters  the  Emigger  had  written 
before  he  started  out  to  meet  Branthorpe. 
Also  I  found  the  still  unopened  note  that  had 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

been  left  for  him.  I  laid  them  on  his  desk 
where  he  would  be  sure  to  see  them,  and  later 
on,  when  he  came  in,  told  him  about  them. 
He  tore  them  up — that  is,  the  two  he  had 
written.  Then  he  opened  the  one  that  I  guess 
was  from  Annie  Davis  and  read  it.  He  read 
it  over  two  or  three  times,  I  think,  then  put  it 
in  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat. 

"I'm  glad  I  didn't  have  to  mail  those  let 
ters,"  I  said  to  him. 

"So  am  I.  One  of  them  was  to  the  best 
woman  in  the  world." 

"She  is  a  good  girl,"  I  said. 

"  Who  is  ?  Oh !  I  meant  my  mother,  Johnny. 
But  the  other  one  is  pretty  nice,  as  you  say. 
Getting  to  the  age  where  you  commence  to 
form  some  opinions  about  the  fair  sex,  eh?" 


XIX 

T^HERE  was  what  the  big  papers  call  a 
1  flutter  in  social  circles  the  next  Sabbath. 
George  Horwick  walked  home  from  church 
with  Annie  Davis.  Except  the  Emigger,  no 
body  had  called  on  her  since  she  came  home, 
but  the  boys  had  teased  George  a  good  deal 
about  his  girl  having  come  back.  They  asked 
him,  too,  if  he  was  going  to  let  Mr.  Colquhoun 
beat  his  time. 

When  George  walked  up  beside  Annie  and 
strolled  along  with  her  from  the  church  door 
and  on  down  the  street,  the  Emigger,  who  had 
been  moving  towards  her,  didn't  appear  to 
notice  it  at  all.  He  stopped  and  spoke  to 
three  or  four  people,  and  then  walked  home 
with  our  folks,  and  talked  politics  with  pa  all 
the  way. 

"  I  guess  Mr.  Colquhoun 's  nose  is  kind  of  out 
of  joint,"  ma  said,  while  we  were  eating  dinner. 

"Um — well,  mebbe,"  pa  said,  and  helped  me 
to  some  more  chicken. 

That  night  the  Emigger  went  out  to  Bea- 
179 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

vers'  with  Mr.  Bashford.     It  was  the  first  Sab 
bath  night  he  had  done  this  for  a  long  time. 

George  Horwick,  once  he  started  to  going 
with  Annie  again,  kept  the  sidewalk  warm  in 
front  of  her  house.  He  spent  three  evenings 
there  that  week  and  took  her  buggy  riding 
one  afternoon.  Oscar  told  me  this.  He  has 
got  in  the  habit  of  seeing  everything  that  goes 
on. 

I  got  off  Saturday  for  all  day,  as  pa  and  ma 
wanted  me  to  go  to  Kensington  and  buy  my 
winter  suit.  We  drove  down  and  back,  and 
had  dinner  at  the  Elite  restaurant.  Kensing 
ton  is  the  county -seat,  but  it  is  deader  than 
Plainville,  really. 

We  went  to  Morgan's  clothing  store  to  get 
my  suit.  Pa  always  trades  there  when  he  goes 
to  Kensington.  Mr.  Morgan  always  waits  on 
us  himself.  When  we  went  into  the  store,  he 
met  us  and  shook  hands  with  pa  and  ma,  and 
said  he  was  glad  to  see  them,  and  asked  where 
they  had  been  keeping  themselves.  Said  he 
was  thinking  about  sending  out  a  searching 
party  for  them  if  they  had  stayed  away  an 
other  week. 

"It  certainly  is  fine  to  see  you,"  he  said. 
"And  how  is  that  little  boy  of  yours?" 

"Doesn't  he  look  all  right?"  pa  asked,  look 
ing  at  me. 

1 80 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Oh,  I  mean  that  little  fellow — Johnny — 
that  you  used  to  buy  clothes  for  from  me." 

"Why,  that's  Johnny." 

"Get  out!  You  can't  fool  me.  Bless  my 
soul!  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  child  has 
grown  to  be  such  a  fine  young  man  as  this! 
Why,  I  thought  this  was  your  younger  brother, 
or  something  like  that.  Who  would  have 
thought  it!" 

And  he  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder  and  shook 
hands  with  me,  and  then  I  knew  he  was  only 
cracking  a  joke  and  that  he  had  known  it  was 
me  all  the  time. 
,     "  Now,"  he  said,  "  what  will  it  be  this  time ?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  we  want  to  buy  anything, 
Mr.  Morgan,"  ma  said.  "We  just  thought  we 
would  look  around  and  see  what  you  might 
have." 

Ma  always  says  that  when  we  go  to  buy  any 
thing. 

"That's  right,"  Mr.  Morgan  said.  "Make 
yourselves  at  home.  Look  over  everything  we 
have,  and  if  you  don't  see  what  you  want  I'll 
send  out  and  get  it." 

"I  might  look  at  a  suit  for  myself  first,"  pa 
said. 

"With  pleasure,  Mr.  Thompson." 

Mr.   Morgan  took  a  tape-line  and  put  it 
around  pa's  chest  and  looked  at  the  figures. 
181 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Forty!"  he  exclaimed.  "Gracious,  man, 
you're  getting  big  as  a  bull.  You  take  a  man's 
size  for  a  fact." 

He  led  us  back  to  a  table  covered  with  men's 
suits,  got  a  chair  for  ma,  and  began  picking 
around  to  find  the  right  size. 

"Something  in  a  nobby  business  suit?"  he 
asked.  "  Say  a  mixed  cheviot,  double-breasted, 
or  a  nice  three-button  sack?" 

"That  would  be  about  the  thing,"  pa  said; 
but  ma  spoke  up: 

"I  think  a  good  clay-worsted  cutaway  that 
he  can  wear  for  dress-up  and  Sabbath  would 
be  better." 

Pa's  good  suit  is  always  a  clay-worsted 
cutaway  that  he  can  wear  for  dress-up  or  Sab 
bath,  and  every  time  he  buys  a  new  suit  he 
wants  to  get  a  double-breasted  or  a  sack  suit. 

"I'll  try  on  the  sack  suit,  Morgan,  if  you've 
got  it  handy,"  pa  said,  looking  at  ma. 

Mr.  Morgan  pulled  out  a  coat,  and  pa  took 
off  the  one  he  was  wearing  and  slipped  the 
sack  coat  on.  It  looked  nice,  except  that  I 
missed  the  long  tails.  But  it  made  pa  look 
younger,  really.  It  was  a  mixed  plaid,  Mr. 
Morgan  said. 

Pa  went  to  the  mirror  and  twisted  himself 
around  to  see  his  back.  "  It  fits  tolerable 
well,"  he  said. 

182 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  It  hunches  up  too  much  between  the  shoul 
ders,"  ma  said.  "You're  not  the  build  of  a 
man  to  wear  a  sack  suit." 

"I  believe  you're  right,  Mrs.  Thompson," 
Mr.  Morgan  said.  "You'd  be  surprised  how 
many  men  there  are  who  can  wear  a  sack  suit, 
and  how  few  can  wear  a  cutaway  with  any 
style  to  them.  Now,  Mr.  Thompson  is  just 
naturally  made  for  a  cutaway  suit." 

"That's  what  I  always  tell  him,"  ma  replied. 
"Suppose  you  try  one  on  him." 

Pa  kept  admiring  the  sack  suit,  but  when 
Mr.  Morgan  brought  the  cutaway  coat  he  had 
to  try  it  on.  It  did  fit  him  better* — that  is,  it 
looked  more  natural  on  him. 

"That's  the  kind  of  a  suit  for  you,"  ma  told 
him.  "It  is  a  good  clay  worsted?" 

"It's  the  real  Henry  Clay,  Mrs.  Thompson," 
Mr.  Morgan  laughed. 

"Let  me  see  it,"  ma  said.  Pa  took  off  the 
coat,  and  ma  took  it  to  the  light  and  looked  it 
over,  examining  the  seams  and  the  way  the 
buttons  were  sewed  on. 

"Any  shoddy  in  it?"  she  asked  Mr.  Mor 
gan. 

"Every  thread  in  it  is  right  off  the  sheep's 
back,  except  the  silk  the  buttons  are  sewed  on 
with." 

Ma  turned  up  the  lining  at  the  coat-tails  and 
183 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

pulled  a  thread  off  the  body  of  the  coat  and 
bit  it. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  it's  all  wool,"  she  said. 

"I'd  stake  my  reputation  on  it,"  Mr.  Morgan 
said. 

"I  didn't  know  a  clothing  man  had  any 
reputation,"  pa  said,  with  a  smile. 

"There  you  go!"  Mr.  Morgan,  said,  as  if 
he  was  angry.  "  Every  time  you  come  in 
here  you  begin  attacking  my  reputation.  I 
tell  you,  this  is  a  hard  world  to  get  along  in. 
Here,  slip  this  coat  on.  Goes  on  you  like  the 
paper  on  the  wall.  There,  hold  up  your  arms. 
Sleeves  just  the  right  length.  Now,  turn 
around."  He  slid  his  hand  across  the  shoulders 
and  down  the  back,  smoothing  the  coat  into 
place.  "Ever  see  anything  fit  like  that,  Mrs. 
Thompson?" 

"It  does  fit  pretty  well,"  ma  conceded. 

"  Now,  try  on  the  pants  and  vest,  Mr.  Thomp 
son,  and  I'll  have  the  suit  altered,  if  it  needs  it, 
and  it  can  be  pressed  and  ready  for  you  when 
you  want  to  start  home." 

Pa  was  about  to  say  all  right,  but  ma 
said: 

"  Haven't  you  got  something  else  in  the  same 
line?" 

"Oh,  my,  yes.     Dozens  of  'em." 

Mr.  Morgan  got  out  a  lot  more  of  the  coats, 
184 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

and  had  pa  try  them  on  one  after  the  other. 
While  he  was  doing  that,  ma  said: 

"We  might  as  well  look  at  something  for 
Johnny  while  we  are  at  it." 

So  Mr.  Morgan  had  a  clerk  bring  some  suits 
around  for  me  to  try  on.  I  wanted  to  keep  a 
nice  black  coat — or  the  suit  that  it  belonged 
to.  It  had  the  lapels  faced  with  silk  or  satin, 
or  something  shiny.  But  ma  said  it  looked  too 
flashy.  We  worked  and  worried  there  for 
about  an  hour,  and  finally  pa  said: 

"Well,  I  guess  that  coat  Johnny  has  on  and 
the  suit  I  looked  at  first  will  be  about  right." 

"The  first  cutaway  suit,  you  mean,"  ma  cor 
rected. 

"Er — yes,"  pa  said. 

"Well,  we'd  best  look  around  a  little  more 
and  see  if  we  can't  do  better  somewhere  else. 
What's  the  price  of  these  suits,  Mr.  Morgan?" 

"Mr.  Thompson's  is  eighteen  dollars  and 
Johnny's  is  ten." 

"Oh,  dear!  That's  entirely  too  much !  Why, 
we  got  just  as  good  suits  last  fall  from  you  for 
fifteen  and  eight." 

"  I  expect  you  did,  but  you  know  everything 
is  in  a  trust  now." 

"Everything  but  us.     Well,  we'll  look  at  a 
few  other  places,  and  if  we  can't  do  any  better 
we  may  come  back  here." 
13  185 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  Better  let  me  have  these  wrapped  up 
right  away,  Mrs.  Thompson." 

"I  expect  we  might  as  well  take  these,"  pa 
said. 

"No.  We  can  save  money — or  if  we  can't, 
at  least  we  can  see  what  the  others  have." 

"Very  well,"  Mr.  Morgan  said.  "I'm  glad 
you  came  in,  Mrs.  Thompson;  and  if  you  don't 
find  what  you  want  elsewhere,  come  back  and 
I'll  treat  you  right." 

We  went  out  and  down  street  to  another 
store,  and  went  through  the  same  performance, 
but  couldn't  find  anything  that  suited  ma. 

Then  we  went  to  another  store,  and  the  same 
performance  was  gone  through  with  again. 
We  always  do  that.  When  we  came  out  of 
the  last  place  ma  was  for  going  to  still  another, 
but  pa  said: 

"No.  I'm  tired,  and  Johnny  is  clean  worn 
out.  I  don't  see  any  sense  in  this." 

"  But  the  only  way  to  know  whether  you 
are  getting  your  money's  worth  is  to  know 
what  you  can  get  everywhere." 

"That  may  do  for  a  woman  who  is  buying 
two  spools  of  thread  or  a  yard  of  gingham,  but 
I  'm  not  a  shopper.  When  I  go  to  buy  anything, 
I  know  what  I  want,  and  I  go  where  it  is  kept 
and  I  get  it,"  pa  said,  turning  back  towards 
Morgan's. 

186 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Oh,  well,"  ma  said,  "if  you  feel  that  way 
about  it,  we'll  go  back  there,  but  if  you  get  a 
suit  that  falls  to  pieces  the  first  time  the  rain 
strikes  it,  don't  blame  me." 

We  stopped  on  the  way  at  a  dry-goods  store, 
where  ma  bought  some  goods  for  a  dress.  Pa 
talked  politics  with  the  proprietor  while  she 
got  the  goods  and  some  trimming  to  match. 
Mr.  Morgan  was  just  as  glad  as  ever  to  see  us. 

"I've  kept  those  two  suits  ready  for  you," 
he  said. 

"Let's  see  them  again,"  ma  said. 

She  had  pa  and  me  try  on  the  coats  again, 
and  then  Mr.  Morgan  got  the  pants  and  vests, 
and  took  us  to  the  dressing-rooms  and  had  us 
put  on  the  whole  suits.  Mine  was  a  brown 
plaid  suit  that  I  didn't  like,  but  ma  said  it 
would  have  lots  of  wear  in  it.  Pa's  suit  fitted 
him  almost  perfectly.  The  pants  of  mine 
would  have  to  be  shortened  a  little. 

"Don't  make  them  too  short,"  pa  said. 
"Like  as  not  it  '11  be  long  enough  before  he 
gets  another  pair." 

Mr.  Morgan  leaned  against  a  pile  of  clothes 
and  laughed  and  laughed  when  pa  said  that. 

"There   you  go!"   he   cried,   laughing  until 

there  were  tears  in  his  eyes.     '"Long  enough 

before  he  gets  another  pair!     Don't  make  them 

too  short!'     Oh,  if  you  aren't  the  greatest  fel- 

187 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

low  on  earth  for  a  joke.     Come  here,  John 
son!" 

One  of  the  clerks  came  up. 

"Did  you  hear  Mr.  Thompson's  joke?  He 
said  not  to  make  his  boy's  pants  too  short, 
that  it  would  be  long  enough  before  he  got  an 
other  pair." 

"Good!  Good!"  Mr.  Johnson  said,  and  he 
laughed  and  laughed  and  slapped  Mr.  Morgan 
on  the  back,  and  Mr.  Morgan  doubled  up  and 
straightened  out  and  gasped  for  breath,  and 
said  pa  was  always  taking  a  fellow  by  surprise 
that  way — getting  off  a  rip-roaring  joke  just 
when  everybody  was  least  expecting  it.  Pa 
looked  pretty  well  pleased  with  himself. 

"Don't  you  see?"  Mr.  Morgan  asked.  "The 
pants  are  too  long  now,  but  we  mustn't  make 
them  too  short.  Long  enough  before  he — oh, 
ho!  ho!  I'll  die,  I  know!" 

And  he  and  Mr.  Johnson  went  off  into  more 
fits  of  laughter,  and  after  a  while,  when  they 
got  their  breath  back  and  wiped  the  tears  off 
their  cheeks,  Mr.  Morgan  took  a  cigar  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  it  to  pa,  and  said: 

"  Smoke  that  to-night  when  you  get  home, 
and  think  of  me.  I'll  be  laughing  yet,  like  as 
not." 

"What  are  you  men  making  such  a  racket 
over?"  ma  asked,  coming  towards  us. 

188 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"One  of  your  husband's  jokes,  Mrs.  Thomp 
son,"  Mr.  Morgan  said,  his  sides  shaking. 

"Well  I'm  glad  somebody  can  laugh  at 
them." 

Then  Mr.  Morgan  had  us  change  suits  again, 
and  then  took  the  new  suits  back  to  have  them 
fixed  up  and  pressed.  All  the  way  back  to  the 
tailoring  -  room  we  could  hear  him  laughing 
and  repeating  the  joke  to  Mr.  Johnson,  who 
was  laughing  as  if  he  enjoyed  it,  too. 

It  is  funny  that  Mr.  Morgan  didn't  remem 
ber  that  joke.  It  is  one  that  pa  gets  off  every 
time  he  buys  a  suit  for  me. 

We  waited  until  Mr.  Morgan  came  back  to 
us.  He  was  still  wiping  his  face  with  his  hand 
kerchief  and  chuckling. 

"A  good  laugh  like  that  in  the  midst  of  a 
busy  day  is  worth  paying  for,  Thompson,"  he 
said,  "and  I'm  going  to  throw  in  a  pair  of  sus 
penders  apiece  for  you  and  Johnny." 

At  the  counter  where  the  suspenders  were, 
he  told  the  joke  all  over  again  to  another  clerk, 
and  that  clerk  laughed  heartily,  too.  While 
we  were  picking  out  the  suspenders,  Mr.  Mor 
gan  kept  talking  about  people  he  knew  in 
Plainville,  and  asking  us  about  different  things 
there.  A  stranger  was  beside  us,  buying  some 
collars,  and  I  noticed  that  he  turned  and  looked 
189 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

at  us  every  now  and  then.  When  Mr.  Morgan 
left  us  to  go  and  see  how  the  suits  were  com 
ing  along,  the  stranger  came  up  to  me  and 
asked : 

"  Do  you  live  in  Plain ville,  my  young  friend  ?" 

Pa  was  looking  at  some  neckties  at  the  other 
end  of  the  counter  and  didn't  hear  the  man 
speak  to  me.  I  answered  that  I  lived  there. 

"How  far  is  it  from  Kensington?" 

I  told  him. 

"Pretty  good  sort  of  a  town,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  noticed  one  thing  about  the  man  then. 
The  tip  of  his  left  ear  was  gone.  I  didn't 
think  anything  particular  of  this  at  the  time, 
except  that  it  seemed  odd.  He  was  a  chunky 
man  with  red  hair  and  a  sandy  complexion. 
He  was  a  pleasant,  nice-looking  man,  with  the 
exception  of  that  left  ear. 

"  Anything  worth  seeing  up  there  ?  I'm  trav 
elling  around  for  my  health  mostly,  and  don't 
care  where  I  am  so  long  as  I  can  see  some 
thing  worth  while." 

I  told  him  there  was  good  scenery  down  the 
creek  —  cliffs  and  such  things  —  that  people 
often  came  to  see,  and  that  there  was  good  fish 
ing  in  the  river. 

"That  sounds  good.  By-the-way,  is  there  a 
man  living  there  of  the  name  of  Colquhoun?" 

190 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Why,  yes.  He  lives  there.  Do  you  know 
him?" 

"I  used  to.  I  heard  he  was  somewhere 
around  there,  and  being  as  I  used  to  know 
him  I  thought  I  might  look  him  up." 

"He'll  be  awful  glad  to  see  you,  I  know. 
He  is  a  mighty  clever  man.  If  you  come  to 
Plainville  I  am  sure  he  will  do  his  best  to  make 
you  enjoy  yourself. 

"I'm  certain  he  will.  Well,  thank  you,  my 
young  friend.  What  might  your  name  be?" 

' '  Thompson — Johnny  Thompson . ' ' 

"That's  a  good  name,  and  you  look  like  a 
good  boy.  If  I  come  to  your  town  I'll  get 
you  to  show  me  around." 

"All  right." 

"Don't  tell  my  friend  Colquhoun  I'm  com 
ing.  I  may  not  get  up  the^e  after  all,  but  if 
I  do  I  want  to  surprise  him." 

"All  right,  sir." 

He  got  his  collars  then  and  said  good-bye  to 
me  and  went  out.  I  told  pa  and  ma  about 
seeing  him,  and  about  his  asking  about  Plain 
ville,  but  thought  of  his  wanting  to  surprise 
the  Emigger  just  in  time,  so  I  didn't  say  any 
thing  about  that  part  of  it.  We  had  to  wait 
almost  an  hour  to  get  our  clothes,  then  we  got 
our  rig  and  drove  home. 


XX 

MR.  BASHFORD  was  writing  at  his  desk 
when  I  came  in  Monday  afternoon  from 
school.     He  was  chewing  fine-cut  rapidly  and 
rubbing  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and  smil 
ing. 

"Well,  Johnny,"  he  said,  "are  you  gather 
ing  any  bunions  while  you  tread  the  stony 
path  of  knowledge?" 

I  didn't  say  anything.  He  doesn't  expect 
you  to  when  he  asks  fool  questions  like  that. 

"Knowledge  is  power,  Johnny,"  he  went  on. 
"You  will  find  that  handsomely  printed  on  a 
motto  in  your  school  -  room.  Knowledge  is 
power.  But  remember  also  that  horse  -  sense 
is  horse  -  power,  and  horse  -  power  makes  the 
wheels  go  round." 

There  had  begun  to  be  a  great  difference  in 
the  way  Mr.  Bashford  and  the  Emigger  acted. 
Mr.  Bashford  was  lively  and  gay  most  of  the 
time  now,  always  humming  a  song  under  his 
breath,  and  making  funny  remarks  every  now 
and  then  about  nothing  in  particular. 

192 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"A  reformer  is  a  man  who  has  a  parade  and 
forgets  to  have  his  circus,"  he  said,  a  few  min 
utes  later,  while  he  was  looking  at  a  magazine 
that  was  exposing  some  rich  people. 

The  Emigger  didn't  say  anything  in  reply  to 
him.  The  Emigger  was  acting  as  if  he  wasn't 
feeling  well.  It  used  to  be  him  that  would 
crack  the  jokes  in  the  office,  while  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  was  the  one  that  was  quiet  and  only  poked 
fun  at  people  and  things  instead  of  joining  in 
the  fun  himself.  Now  it  was  Mr.  Bashford 
who  was  cheerful  and  jolly  all  the  time,  while 
the  Emigger  was  the  other  way  about.  Mr. 
Bashford  wrote  a  while  longer.  I  was  setting 
type  back  at  the  case,  and  could  see  that  the 
Emigger  was  simply  marking  up  the  paper  in 
front  of  him  without  writing  anything.  After 
a  little  while  Mr.  Bashford  said: 

"What  seems  to  be  the  matter,  Dabney?" 
He  had  commenced  calling  the  Emigger  by 
that  name  since  the  show  manager  did. 

"Oh,  not  much  of  anything,"  the  Emigger 
replied. 

"That  so?  I'd  hate  to  see  you  when  there 
was  something  wrong  with  you  then." 

The  Emigger  commenced  marking  on  the 
sheet  of  paper  again,  and  Mr.  Bashford  rubbed 
his  chin  with  his  pencil.  Then  he  leaned  across 
to  the  Emigger  and  said: 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Losing  your  nerve?" 

"What  about?" 

"Annie." 

I  suppose  it  wasn't  right  for  me  to  listen. 
Etiquette  for  Everybody  says  it  is  the  height  of 
ill  manners  to  eavesdrop,  but  when  you  are 
working  for  people  and  they  talk  right  in  front 
of  you,  you  can't  help  noticing  what  they  say. 

"No.  I'm  not  losing  my  nerve,"  the  Emig- 
ger  answered,  slowly.  "  Not  losing  my  nerve," 
he  repeated. 

"Looks  that  way  to  me." 

"Just  how?" 

"Don't  talk;  don't  eat;  don't  sleep — your 
eyes  show  that  part  of  it.  Buck  up,  old  man. 
Why  do  you  quit  the  race?" 

"Never  was  in  it." 

"  Faint  heart,  and  so  forth,  as  the  poet  says." 

"It  isn't  that  way.  Look  here,  Eli,  any 
body  can  see  I'm  foolish  to  even  think  of 
having  a  chance  there." 

"Foolish  not  to  think  so." 

"  No.  Size  the  thing  up  right.  Here  I  come 
into  this  town  a  stranger,  and  I  'm  still  a  stranger . ' ' 

"Shucks!  Best-known  man  in  the  county. 
Elect  you  to  anything.  What  you  talking 
about,  Dabney?" 

"That's  all  very  nice  to  say,  but  I've  thought 
it  all  over,  and  I  don't  see  how  any  girl  could 
194 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

be  interested  in  me  in  the  way  you  mean,  when 
she  knows  what  sort  of  a  man  I  am — or  knows 
how  much  she  don't  know  about  me.  Came 
here  a  stranger,  as  I  say.  No  use  telling  about 
my  family,  or  my  history  prior  to  my  advent 
here,  because  it  doesn't  line  up  properly  with 
my  record  here.  Ragman  first.  That's  a  fine 
foundation  for  a  social  career,  isn't  it?" 

"Lots  of  people  have  worse." 

"Yes,  but  they  aren't  here.  Then  what 
do  I  do?  Distinguish  myself  by  my  gentle 
ness  and  self  -  possession !  Grab  a  man  and 
choke  him  because  he  is  trying  to  flirt  with  a 
girl!  Later  on,  produce  my  revolver  and  get 
ready  to  shoot  the  man.  Not  only  that,  I  go 
slam-banging  down  street  as  if  I  had  the  gun 
on  me  and  run  him  out  of  town,  and  create  a 
sensation  that  will  never  be  forgotten.  Oh, 
it's  no  use!  I  can  see  how  it  must  look  to 
everybody  else." 

"  If  you  could,  you'd  talk  different." 

"You'd  stick  up  for  me,  of  course;  but  when 
a  girl  can  choose  between  a  man  who  shows 
himself  to  be  a  brawler  and  a  bluffer — " 

"And  makes  his  bluffs  good." 

"And  a  bluffer,  and  a  young  fellow  she  has 
known  all  her  life,  and  whose  family  history 
she  knows — why,  it's  plain  as  day  which  she 
will  choose." 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"But,  confound  it,  Dabney,  you're  not  giv 
ing  her  the  chance  to  choose." 

"She  has  chosen." 

"How?  What?  You  don't  mean  you  have 
asked  her — ?" 

"Oh  no.  Got  too  much  sense  for  that.  But 
any  one  can  see  where  she  stands." 

Mr.  Bashford  grinned  and  said: 

"There  never  was  but  one  man  who  under 
stood  women,  and  he  acknowledged  afterwards 
that  he  had  guessed  wrong  nine  times  out  of 
ten." 

"Well,"  the  Emigger  said,  mournfully,  "I 
don't  lay  claim  to  any  more  than  as  much  sense 
as  the  law  allows,  but  I  know  when  my  cake 
is  dough.  I  won't  take  the  chance  of  being 
snubbed.  I've  been  snubbed  enough  already." 

"If  you  have,  you've  snubbed  yourself." 

"No.  I'm  out  of  place  here,  anyway.  The 
best  thing  for  me  to  do  would  be  to  go  away 
and  begin  all  over  somewhere  else." 

Mr.  Bashford  looked  at  him  a  minute  or  two, 
then  said: 

"You  keep  on  talking  that  way  and  you'll 
begin  life  again  in  an  asylum.  Say,  is  this 
affair  affecting  your  mind  ?  Any  of  your  folks 
ever  have  melancholia?" 

The  Emigger  laughed  then  for  the  first  time. 

"You  can't  understand  my  view-point,"  he 
196 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

said.  "I  think  that  would  be  the  simplest 
way  to  straighten  matters  out." 

"Not  on  your  tintype!  Not  by  a  mile. 
Know  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  in  your  shoes?" 

"What?" 

"I'd  settle  it  in  three  minutes." 

"I'm  not  going  to  whip  anybody  else,  Eli, 
or  talk  shooting  to  them  either." 

"That  isn't  necessary.  I  would  simply  ask 
the  girl." 

"You  would?  When  I  ask  a  girl  any  ques 
tions  like  that  I  want  to  be  pretty  sure  what 
her  answer  will  be." 

"And  you  can  bet  your  last  dollar  she  knows 
what  her  answer  will  be  before  she  lets  you  ask 
her.  I'm  going  to — 

"  Going  to  ask  for  me  ?" 

"Nope.  Going  to  ask  for  myself.  I've  got 
the  same  sort  of  trouble  on  my  mind,  but  your 
uncle  Eli  is  going  to  headquarters  and  get  his 
verdict.  He  isn't  going  to  leave  town,  or  fret 
around  as  if  his  liver  had  forgotten  its  duties 
under  the  statutes  in  such  cases  made  and  pro 
vided." 

"You  have  my  good  wishes  and  congratu 
lations.  But  as  for  me — I'd  better  drop  out." 

"  Say,  Dabney,  if  you  ever  do  such  a  fool 
thing,  blamed  if  I  don't  give  you  a  write-up 
that  will  follow  you  to  the  end  of  your  days!" 
197 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

I  got  so  worried  over  the  Emigger's  talk 
about  leaving  here  that  I  pied  a  stick  of  type 
while  I  was  dumping  it  on  the  galley,  and  the 
interruption  made  them  realize  that  they  were 
talking  tolerably  loud,  and  they  began  talking 
about  business  matters.  But  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  Flora  Beavers  was  right,  and  that 
somebody  ought  to  talk  to  Annie  Davis  about 
the  way  she  was  acting.  At  the  same  time  I 
felt  like  talking  to  the  Emigger  over  the  way 
he  was  losing  his  nerve.  If  he  wranted  to  go 
with  Annie  Davis,  he  ought  not  to  let  George 
Horwick  cut  him  out.  I  agreed  with  Mr. 
Bashford  that  the  Emigger  would  be  as  much 
to  blame  as  anybody  for  that. 

Oscar  came  in  to  walk  home  with  me,  and 
I  asked  him  while  we  were  going  up  street  if 
he  had  found  any  more  clews  about  the  Emig 
ger's  horse. 

"No,  but  I've  still  got  that  plaster  cast  of 
the  footprint  of  the  man  that  stole  it." 

"I  think  I  found  a  new  clew  yesterday,"  I 
told  him.  Then  I  repeated  what  I  had  heard 
Mrs.  Gillup  say  about  how  the  horse  might  have 
strayed  out  and  found  its  way  back  to  where 
it  used  to  live. 

"Where  was  that?"  Oscar  asked,  interested 
at  once. 

"Over  around  Sabina  somewhere,"  I  told 
198 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

him,  and  then  said  that  old  Mr.  Gillup  always 
kept  a  diary,  and  like  as  not  the  name  of  the 
man  he  got  the  horse  from  was  in  it. 

"I'm  going  to  follow  that  up,  Johnny.  I'll 
see  old  Mrs.  Gillup  and  get  her  to  let  me  look 
over  that  diary.  Maybe  I  can  get  some  other 
information  from  it." 

Just  then  I  heard  Mr.  Bashford  calling  to 
me  from  behind  us.  I  turned  around  and  went 
back  to  him,  and  he  said  there  was  some  job- 
work  he  wanted  hurried  up,  and  asked  me  to 
finish  it  after  supper  if  I  could,  and  to  bring 
the  proofs  out  to  Miss  Beavers'  house  for  him 
to  read  right  away,  as  he  would  be  there  that 
evening.  He  said  it  wouldn't  keep  me  up  or 
out  very  late,  and  he  would  be  much  obliged 
if  I  would  do  it  as  a  favor  to  him,  so  of  course 
I  agreed  to  do  it. 


XXI 

I  TOOK  those  proofs  out  to  Beavers'  and  I 
saw  Mr.  Bashford,  but  I  did  not  give  him 
the  proofs — and  the  strangest  part  of  it  all  is 
that  he  does  not  know  to  this  day  that  I  did 
not  give  them  to  him.  I  don't  know  whether 
it  is  proper  or  not  for  me  to  tell  what  I  am 
going  to  tell  now,  but  when  Mr.  Bashford  in 
structed  me  about  writing  accounts  of  things, 
he  told  me  to  write  exactly  what  I  saw  and 
how  it  happened,  and  it  is  necessary  to  explain 
the  occurrences  of  that  night.  It  was  nearly 
eight  o'clock  when  I  started  out  there,  and  I 
tried  first  to  find  Oscar  and  get  him  to  go 
along.  But  I  learned  afterwards  that  he  was 
at  old  Mrs.  Gillup's  hunting  through  that  diary 
for  the  name  of  the  man  Mr.  Gillup  had  bought 
the  horse  from.  So  it  was  no  wonder  I  couldn't 
find  Oscar.  I  looked  for  him  everywhere  I 
had  reason  to  think  he  might  be,  but  I  did  not 
have  any  idea  he  would  be  at  Gillup's.  It 
was  a  bright,  moonlight  evening,  and  just  cool 
enough  to  be  comfortable,  so  I  did  not  mind 
200 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

walking  out  there  alone.  The  moon  had  been 
up  about  an  hour  and  was  as  big  as  a  wash-tub. 
On  the  way  out  I  thought  about  how  much 
bigger  the  moon  looks  when  it  is  just  rising  or 
setting,  and  of  how  Professor  Jones  explains 
that  this  is  caused  by  the  magnifying  power  of 
the  atmosphere,  and  how  far  away  the  moon 
is,  and  other  solemn  things.  The  crickets 
were  cutting  loose  for  all  they  were  worth,  and 
the  katydids  were  quarrelling  fiercely.  Or- 
phena  Green  could  have  written  a  poem  about 
that  evening.  I  almost  could  write  one  my 
self,  but  Mr.  Bashford  says  poets  are  born,  not 
made,  and  that  this  proves  their  parents  are 
to  blame  for  not  heading  them  off  when  they 
begin  to  rhyme. 

Mrs.  Beavers  told  me  to  sit  down  on  the 
porch  and  wait,  that  Mr.  Bashford  and  Flora 
had  gone  for  a  walk  but  would  be  back  soon, 
she  thought.  She  sat  and  talked  with  me  a 
while,  then  went  into  the  house  to  see  about 
something.  She  didn't  come  back,  and  after 
a  while  I  tiptoed  to  the  door  and  looked  in,  and 
she  was  sitting  in  a  big  rocking-chair  fast  asleep. 
So  I  went  back  to  the  porch  and  waited. 
Pretty  soon  a  hoot  -  owl  began  hooting  in  a 
bunch  of  trees  down  the  lane,  and  I  thought  I 
would  go  down  there  and  see  if  I  couldn't  catch 
it.  When  I  got  there  I  couldn't  see  the  owl, 

14  201 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

so  I  waited  a  few  minutes,  and  then  it  hooted 
right  over  my  head.  I  got  a  stick  to  knock  it 
out  of  the  tree  with,  and  kept  looking  for  it, 
but  couldn't  get  sight  of  it.  I  circled  around 
the  trees,  and  finally,  on  the  side  away  from  the 
lane,  I  could  make  out  a  little  bunch  on  one  of 
the  limbs  that  I  knew  was  the  owl.  I  hunted 
for  a  stone  or  something  to  throw,  but  couldn't 
find  anything,  and  while  I  was  on  my  knees 
digging  around,  I  heard  voices  on  the  other 
side  of  the  trees.  I  peeped  through,  and  Mr. 
Bashford  and  Flora  were  coming  up  the  lane, 
walking  real  slow.  If  I  stepped  out  then  I 
knew  it  would  scare  Miss  Beavers,  and  maybe 
make  Mr.  Bashford  think  I  was  spying  on  him, 
so  I  dropped  down  in  the  grass  and  kept  quiet. 
To  my  embarrassment,  they  stopped  when 
they  were  opposite  me,  and  Mr.  Bashford  said: 

"Isn't  it  a  beautiful  evening?" 

"Indeed,  yes,"  Miss  Beavers  said.  "It  is  so 
dreamy  and  magnificent." 

"I've  never  seen  a  prettier  moon,"  Mr. 
Bashford  said. 

"Nor  I." 

"Yet  it  is  the  same  old  moon  we  see  over 
and  over  again,"  Mr.  Bashford  went  on.  "The 
same  moon  that  has  looked  down  in  its  kindly 
way  upon  the  world  through  all  the  myriad 
years  of  time." 

202 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bashford,  you  have  such  inspir 
ing  thoughts.  You  must  have  read  a  tremen 
dous  lot." 

"  Naturally  a  man  in  my  profession  will  have 
come  in  touch  with  the  best  in  literature.  But 
yonder  moon — have  you  ever  meditated  upon 
it,  how  it  has  beamed  upon  the  young  men  and 
maidens,  and  the  old  and  feeble;  babies  have 
cried  for  it,  maidens  have  sighed  to  it;  poets 
have  sung  to  it,  and  the  aged  have  looked  up 
to  it  and  dreamed  of  the  days  that  are  no 
more." 

"What  a  beautiful  description!  I  never 
would  have  thought  all  that  about  the  moon." 

"  It  is  the  moon  that  Shakespeare  knew,  that 
Romeo  swore  by,  that  Heloise  and  Abelard" — 
I  hunted  these  names  up  afterwards — "wept 
under,  that  wrought  its  magic  spell  over  Burns 
and  Highland  Mary,  that  silvered  the  ivory 
of  the  barge  on  which  Antony  and  Cleopatra 
drifted  down  the  rippling  Nile,  that  sent  its 
lustre  to  make  bright  the  gilt  and  gold  of  the 
palaces  of  kings  and  queens  of  old,  and  that 
holds  in  its  silent  heart  the  romances  of  dead 
years  and  the  dreams  and  hopes  of  countless 
lovers  of  to-day." 

"How  sublime!  Mr.  Bashford,  I  did  not 
know  there  was  so  much  sentiment  in  you." 

"There  is  sentiment  in  the  heart  of  every 
203 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

man,  Miss  Flora,  but  the  casket  of  his  senti 
ment  is  not  to  be  opened  by  every  woman. 
Only  one  possesses  the  key  to  it." 

Mr.  Bashford  sat  on  the  bank  at  the  side 
of  the  lane,  and  Miss  Beavers  sat  down  too. 
Now  I  was  in  a  fix.  They  weren't  eight  feet 
away  from  me,  and  if  I  made  the  slightest 
sound  I  would  be  discovered,  and  if  that  hap 
pened  I  knew  all  the  explanations  I  might 
make  from  now  till  doomsday  would  never 
convince  Mr.  Bashford  that  I  hadn't  been  try 
ing  to  overhear  what  he  said.  I  flattened 
myself  in  the  grass  and  tried  to  be  as  still  as 
possible,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  breath 
ing  made  noise  enough  for  any  one  to  hear  down 
on  the  road.  A  spear  of  grass  got  to  tickling 
my  nose,  and  I  moved  my  hand  up  slowly  and 
cautiously  to  push  it  aside,  because  no  matter 
how  I  twisted  my  face,  it  scratched  me  all  the 
more.  Honestly,  when  I  moved  my  arm  and 
hand  it  sounded  to  me  as  loud  as  if  I  had  hit  a 
bass-drum.  But  they  didn't  hear  me.  They 
were  sitting  with  their  backs  to  me,  tolerably 
close  together.  Mr.  Bashford  had  his  hat  off, 
and  if  I  ever  get  mad  at  him  I  intend  to  tell 
him  the  effect  moonshine  has  on  his  hair. 
They  were  both  looking  up  at  the  moon. 

"You  have  true  poetry  in  your  soul,  Mr. 
Bashford,"  Flora  said. 

204 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"The  Orphena  Green  brand?"  he  asked. 
And  then  they  both  giggled.  I  was  surprised. 
Flora  turned  and  looked  at  him,  and  he  turned 
and  looked  at  her,  and  although  their  faces 
were  in  the  shadow  a  little,  you  would  have 
been  surprised,  too,  to  see  how  young  they 
looked.  I  had  always  considered  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  a  man  like  pa  or  any  of  the  other  men  of 
that  age,  but  really  he  looked  as  young  as  any 
of  the  young  fellows  around  town. 

"The  very  idea!"  Flora  said,  when  she  stop 
ped  giggling.  "That's  just  like  you,  saying 
some  ridiculous  thing  right  at  the  most  inspir 
ing  moment." 

"Was  it  an  inspiring  moment?"  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  asked.  I  twisted  my  head  to  the  left 
a  little,  because  I  heard  something  coming 
through  the  grass.  I  wondered  what  it  was. 
If  it  was  a  snake  I  knew  I  would  have  to  jump 
up  and  yell  and  run,  no  matter  what  might  be 
the  result.  I  was  so  interested  watching  for 
whatever  it  was  that  was  coming  towards  me, 
that  I  didn't  hear  what  Mr.  Bashford  and  Flora 
were  saying  for  several  minutes,  although  it 
was  like  a  year  or  two  to  me.  I  could  only 
notice  a  low  hum  of  their  voices,  because  this 
thing  kept  rustling  along,  stopping,  then  rus 
tling  again.  Then  it  hopped  into  sight.  It  was 
a  toad.  It  kept  straight  at  me,  and  I  held  my 
205 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

breath.  It  came  on,  and  when  it  got  in  front 
of  my  eyes  it  stopped  and  looked  at  me.  If 
you  want  to  know  what  worry  is,  lie  down  on 
the  ground  some  evening,  and  realize  that 
you  just  have  to  keep  still  as  death,  and  let  a 
toad  hop  up  in  front  of  you  and  look  you  over. 
It  was  awful.  The  toad  blinked  once  or  twice, 
and  stared  at  me  some  more.  Then  it  deliber 
ately  hopped  up  in  the  air  and  lit  on  my  head. 
I  felt  my  backbone  tie  into  knots  and  my  flesh 
creep  and  my  skin  get  pimply  all  over  me.  If 
that  toad  hadn't  hopped  off  again  and  gone 
on  away,  I  believe  I  would  have  yelled  bloody 
murder.  As  it  was,  I  was  wringing  wet  with 
sweat,  and  it  was  five  or  six  minutes  before  I 
began  to  notice  what  Mr.  Bashford  and  Flora 
were  saying.  I  looked  over  at  them  then,  and 
they  were  close  together,  and  he  was  saying: 
"It  is  a  beautiful  poem.  It  goes: 

"  '  I  want  no  sun  in  heaven  to  guide  me, 

I  need  no  moon  or  stars  to  shine 
While  I  have  you,  sweetheart,  beside  me, 
While  I  know  that  you  are  mine.'  " 

' '  How  lovely ! ' '  she  said .    "Did  you  write  it  ?  " 
"Oh  no.     I  heard  some  one  sing  it,  and  re 
membered  it." 

"Who  sang  it?"  she  asked,  drawing  away 
from  him  a  little  bit. 

206 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Man  in  a  minstrel  show." 

She  leaned  back.  He  held  her  hand  up  in 
the  moonlight  and  looked  at  it  and  sighed.  I 
could  hear  him  sigh  clear  over  where  I  was. 

"Flora,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  shaking 
as  if  he  was  scared — -"  Flora,  I  think  I  ought  to 
be  married." 

"To  whoo!  To  whoo!"  the  owl  broke  out 
at  that  instant. 

They  looked  up,  startled,  but  realized  what 
it  was,  and  Mr.  Bashford  said,  tenderly: 

"Flora,  will  you?" 

Then  Flora  Beavers  let  her  head  drop  over 
on  his  shoulder,  and  Mr.  Bashford's  arm  went 
around  her  waist,  and  she  looked  up  into  his 
face,  and  I  heard  her  whisper: 

"Yes,  Eli." 

Then  he  kissed  her!  And  she  let  him.  I 
was  ashamed  for  him,  and  I  crawled  away 
through  the  grass.  I  didn't  care  how  much 
noise  I  made.  When  I  was  a  little  distance 
away  from  them,  I  heard  Flora  ask: 

"What  is  that  noise?" 

"My  friend,  the  owl,"  I  heard  Mr.  Bashford 
say.  I  crawled  on  till  I  struck  some  bushes 
alongside  the  fence  by  the  road,  and  then  I  got 
up  and  walked  back  to  town.  When  I  started 
down  the  hill  into  town  I  heard  the  owl  going: 

"Who!     Who!     Who!" 
207 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

It  sounded  as  if  the  owl  was  making  fun  of 
me. 

Tuesday  Mr.  Bashford  was  chirpier  than 
ever,  and  the  Emigger  was  glummer  yet.  I 
thought  a  man  that  had  acted  as  silly  as  Mr. 
Bashford  had  should  have  kept  quiet  and 
tried  to  be  dignified  again,  but  he  would  stop 
with  a  chew  of  fine-cut  half-way  to  his  mouth 
and  begin  whistling  something  or  humming  a 
song.  And  he  kept  his  coat  on  to  work  in. 
I  think  he  had  hair-oil  on  his  hair,  too,  for  it 
looked  slick  and  smelled  like  perfumery. 

The  Emigger  looked  so  blue  that  I  felt  sorry 
for  him  and  out  of  patience  with  Annie  Davis. 
I  said  to  myself  I  wrould  bet  the  Emigger 
wouldn't  talk  so  foolish  to  Annie  if  he  and  she 
had  been  under  those  trees  in  place  of  Mr. 
Bashford  and  Miss  Beavers.  And  I  concluded 
that  the  first  chance  I  had  I  wrould  drop  a  hint 
to  Annie  that  would  show  her  what  a  mistake 
she  was  making. 


XXII 

"  TF  you  don't  chirk  up  a  little,"  Mr.  Bash- 

1  ford  told  the  Emigger  one  afternoon  that 
week,  "  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of 
you." 

"I'm  all  right,"  the  Emigger  said,  trying  to 
smile. 

"All  right?  You  keep  on  walking  around 
so  gloomy  and  I'll  have  Ol  Bent  come  in  and 
give  me  newspaper  rates  on  you,  and  bury 
you." 

The  Emigger  laughed  some  at  this,  and  Mr. 
Bashford  went  on: 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  Ol's  experience 
with  Mrs.  Joe  French?  No?  Well,  you  know 
who  she  is — Mat  French,  they  all  call  her." 

"She's  a  widow,  I  thought." 

"She  is  now,  but  she  wasn't  when  this  be 
gan  to  happen.  You  know  Ol  Bent  pretty 
well,  don't  you?" 

"The  undertaker?     Of  course  I  know  him." 

"You  ought  to.  He's  had  hopes  of  a  boom 
in  business  ever  since  you  struck  town,  and 

209 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

folks  began  talking  about  your  handiness  with 
a  gun." 

The  Emigger  got  solemn  then.  Mr.  Bash- 
ford's  remark  made  him  think  of  how  he  had 
been  feeling  all  along  since  he  ran  Branthorpe 
away.  He  said: 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  people  have  been  criticising 
me  for  that." 

"Now  I  was  only  joking,  Dabney.  You're 
getting  to  be  a  regular  pessimist.  You  know 
what  a  pessimist  is,  don't  you?  He's  a  man 
who  tried  to  be  unpopular  with  himself." 

"What  about  Bent  and  Mrs.  French?" 

"Oh  yes.  Well,  you  know  when  Ol  went 
into  the  undertaking  business  he  had  just  left 
a  position  as  passenger  brakeman  on  the  rail 
road.  His  uncle  died  and  left  him  the  hearse 
and  the  rest  of  the  outfit,  and  he  thought  this 
was  a  fine  thing  for  him.  Naturally,  having 
been  a  railroad  man,  he  was  fond  of  uniform, 
so  he  got  a  set  of  fire-department  buttons  from 
a  firm  in  Cincinnati,  and  put  them  on  his  coat 
and  vest." 

"I've  noticed  those  silver  buttons  with  'F. 
D.'  on  them  that  he  wears,  and  wondered 
what  they  meant." 

"They  really  mean  'Fire  Department,'  but 
according  to  Ol  they  stand  for  '  Funeral  Direc 
tor.'  You  know,  here,  an  undertaker  is  a 

210 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

funeral  director,  and  a  barber  a  tonsorial 
artist,  and  a  carriage  store  is  a  vehicle  reposi 
tory—" 

"Yes,  I've  seen  the  signs." 

"  Well,  to  get  back  to  the  story.  When  Joe 
French  was  alive  he  got  a  pension  of  forty 
dollars  a  month,  having  been  wounded  several 
times  in  the  late  unpleasantness,  when  a  lot 
of  our  people  marched  over  there  into  your 
country  and  stirred  things  up.  Mat  French 
was,  and  still  is,  a  woman  with  her  whims. 
She  had  a  fad  in  those  times,  and  it  was  to  at 
tend  funerals.  Nobody  died  in  Plain ville,  or 
for  ten  miles  around,  without  her  going  to  the 
funeral.  In  the  warm  weather  she  would  al 
ways  carry  a  bouquet  of  pinies  or  other  flow 
ers.  It  got  to  be  a  standing  joke,  the  way  she 
took  in  all  the  funerals — white,  black,  or  mixed 
colors.  And  Ol,  having  been  a  railroader  and 
necessarily  given  considerably  to  saying  smart 
things,  wasn't  slow  to  catch  onto  this  trait  of 
Mat  French's.  He  always  had  some  little  joke 
to  crack  about  it,  but  usually  in  such  an  inno 
cent  way  that  nobody  thought  it  worth  re 
peating.  One  time,  however,  there  was  a  col 
ored  funeral  over  in  Egypt — you  know  that 
end  of  town  where  the  darkies  live  used  to  be 
called  that — and  Ol  had  charge  of  the  funeral. 
It  was  set  for  two  o'clock,  and  everything  was 

211 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

ready  at  that  hour,  preacher  there,  friends, 
and  all,  but  Ol  didn't  give  the  signal  to  start 
the  services.  Minutes  dragged  along,  and  still 
Ol  stood  on  the  front  steps  and  failed  to  let 
them  go  ahead.  Finally,  half  an  hour  after 
the  time  set,  he  came  into  the  house  and  told 
the  preacher  to  begin.  'I've  had  to  hold  the 
services  back  a  little  while,'  he  said,  'so  that 
Mat  French  could  arrive.  It  wouldn't  do  to 
have  a  funeral  without  her,  you  know.'  Which 
naturally  was  considered  a  rare  piece  of  wit  on 
Ol's  part.  And  of  course  it  was  passed  around 
from  one  person  to  another,  Ol  helping  it 
gather  speed,  to  tell  the  truth.  Well,  it  wasn't 
a  week  until  Mat  French  heard  it.  She  never 
let  on  that  she  cared,  never  said  a  word,  just 
kept  on  attending  funerals  as  fast  as  they  hap 
pened — but  she  arrived  on  time  after  that." 

"But  I  don't  see—" 

"Wait.  Joe  French,  Mat's  husband,  as  I 
say,  was  getting  his  pension,  and  he  had  con 
siderable  of  his  back  pension  salted  away  in 
the  bank.  Now,  in  those  days,  when  an  old 
soldier  died,  the  Grand  Army  would  pay  so 
much  for  his  funeral  expenses,  and  there  was 
a  state  fund  also  from  which  thirty-five  dollars 
could  be  taken  for  the  same  purpose.  You 
see,  when  there  was  an  old-soldier  funeral,  the 
cash  available  was  worth  while,  especially  to 

212 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

a  struggling  young  undertaker  in  a  town  like 
this.  By -and -by  Joe  French  gave  in  to  the 
weakness  of  his  constitution  and  laid  him  dowrn 
and  died.  Mat  didn't  say  a  word  to  Ol,  who 
had  been  dusting  off  his  highest-priced  casket 
and  figuring  on  a  lot  of  extras  in  the  bargain, 
and  who  waited  around  his  shop  all  day  after 
he  heard  that  Joe  was  dead.  Mat  sent  to 
Kensington  for  an  undertaker,  and  buried  Joe 
in  style.  This  was  more  than  Ol  could  stand. 
He  always  was  a  stickler  for  home  trade,  you 
see,  and  so  he  deliberately  went  and  asked  Mat 
French  why  she  hadn't  given  him  the  job." 

"'Oh,'  she  said,  'I  didn't  want  to  have  you 
worrying  over  whether  I  would  be  at  the 
funeral  in  time  or  not." 

The  Emigger  didn't  crack  a  smile  at  this. 
He  just  relighted  his  cigar  and  commenced 
tapping  with  his  fingers  on  his  desk.  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  looked  at  him  with  an  odd  expression. 

"Well,  by  jinks!"  he  said.  "I  thought  sure 
ly  that  story  would  make  you  forget  your 
troubles.  I  tried  to  pick  out  a  story  that 
would  sort  of  fit  in  with  your  mood." 

"Eh — ah — er — tolerable  fair  story,  Eli,"  the 
Emigger  remarked. 

"Say,  what  you  need  is  change  of  air  and 
different  scenery." 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that." 
213 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Then  suppose  you  pack  your  little  keester, 
and  take  a  run  around  the  county  and  get  a 
few  advertisements  the  last  of  the  week." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that  kind  of  a  trip, 
Eli." 

"It's  the  only  kind  I'm  going  to  let  you 
think  of." 

"But  I'm—  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I'm 
growing  restless." 

"Restless?  You're  as  restless  as  the  pyra 
mids.  I  suppose  when  you're  really  fidgety 
you  yawn,  do  you  ?  Restless!  You  sit  around 
all  day,  and  don't  do  anything  or  say  any 
thing —  Why,  hang  it  all,  it  would  be  a  com 
fort  if  you  would  quarrel  a  little!" 

"Done  altogether  too  much  quarrelling  in 
my  time." 

"  Great  guns !  You're  always  bragging  about 
your  past.  Quit  it,  Dabney.  When  a  man 
begins  butting  into  his  past  all  the  time  he  mis 
lays  his  future." 

"  But  there  are  some  things  that  I  can't  help 
thinking  about  and  speaking  about." 

"Tell  'em  to  some  one  else,  then.  I'm  not 
one  of  these  folks  that  only  goes  to  revivals  to 
hear  their  neighbors  confess." 

"Eli,  you're  a  good  friend,  and  as  square  a 
man  as  I  ever  knew,  but  you  don't  seem  able 
to  understand  how  I  feel." 
214 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Oh  yes,  I  do.  In  my  long  and  varied 
career  I  suppose  my  heart  has  been  busted  all 
to  smash  something  like  a  thousand  times. 
Why,  I  can  remember  the  first  time  my  heart 
was  broken,  and  I  could  feel  the  pieces  of  it 
shifting  around  inside  of  me,  and  was  afraid 
to  cough  for  fear  I'd  bring  part  of  it  up.  That 
was  a  girl  I  went  to  school  with — I  thought  she 
had  hair  of  pure  gold  and  that  her  eyes  were 
segments  of  the  sky.  Later  on  she  threw  me 
over  for  a  boy  who  had  more  candy -money 
than  I  had,  and  then  I  discovered  that  her  hair 
was  plain,  old,  every-day  red  and  that  she  had 
freckles  as  big  as  a  corporation  seal.  It's  been 
that  way  all  along.  Fall  into  love's  young 
dream,  wake  up,  and  recover  by  degrees.  It 
isn't  so  fierce  when  you  get  used  to  it." 

"  But  you  never  were  in  a  position  where 
you  realized  your  own  failings  so  much  as  I 
do." 

"Wasn't  I?  Why,  I've  been  in  love  with 
everything  from  a  milkmaid  up  to  a  jewel- 
decked  heiress  in  my  time,  and  I've  noticed 
that  my  heart  fluttered  the  same  number  of 
flutters  in  each  case." 

"And  did  they  all  throw  you  over?" 

"Not  one  of  them,   except  the  red-headed 
one  I  mentioned  a  minute  ago.     I  didn't  give 
the  others  the  chance." 
215 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

The  Emigger  smoked  on  for  a  while  without 
saying  a  word,  then  he  began  to  smile.  He 
blew  smoke  rings  over  his  head,  and  smiled  and 
smiled  until  Mr.  Bashford  asked: 

"What's  up?  Why  those  merry  dimples  in 
your  cheek  of  honest  tan?" 

"I  was  just  wondering  how  you  would  be 
talking  a  week  or  so  from  now,  after  you  have 
gotten  that  verdict  you  were  speaking  about 
Monday?" 

"What  verdict?" 

"You  remember  telling  me  you  were  going 
to  ask  a  certain  question." 

I  felt  like  speaking  up  right  then  and  telling 
the  Emigger  that  Mr.  Bashford  had  already 
got  his  verdict,  but  thought  better  of  it.  If  I 
should  say  anything  it  would  give  me  away. 
So  I  kept  quiet.  Mr.  Bashford  leaned  over 
and  tapped  the  Emigger  on  the  chest  a  couple 
of  times,  then  said: 

"My  earnest  young  friend,  when  your  uncle 
Eli  says  he  is  going  to  do  something,  go  thou 
and  do  likewise.  It  is  always  safe  to  bet  that 
Colonel  Eli  James  Bashford,  late  of  Cincinnati, 
Ohio,  knows  what  he  is  doing." 

"Then  you  have—?" 

"I  can't  tell  you.  I  won't  tell  you.  But 
I'll  say  this,  there  isn't  a  surer  way  to  learn 
whether  you  are  Number  One  or  simply  among 
216 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

those  present  than  to  make  the  necessary  in 
quiries.  That  is  my  plan." 

"Sometimes,  though,  one  doesn't  need  to 
ask  any  questions." 

"  Well,  Dabney,  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  Just 
as  soon  as  I  get  all  my  little  affairs  fixed  up 
and  running  smooth,  if  you  want  me  to  I'll 
take  over  the  management  of  yours." 

The  Emigger  laughed,  but  said  he  would 
have  to  find  the  affair  first,  and  that  he  be 
lieved  he  would  take  that  little  trip  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  had  suggested. 

"It  will  get  my  mind  off  my  troubles,"  he 
said. 

"It  will  do  you  good,"  Mr.  Bashford  said; 
"  but  as  for  getting  your  mind  off  your  troubles, 
I  can't  say.  My  experience  is  that  it's  best 
to  keep  your  mind  on  your  troubles  till  you 
have  decided  to  tell  them  to  some  one." 

"All  right;  I'll  think  it  over.  But  I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  forget  one  certain  trouble." 

"You  mean  Annie  Davis?" 

"Yes.  I've  given  up.  Why  should  I  not? 
The  best  thing  for  me  to  do  will  be  to  dismiss 
all  that  from  my  mind,  and  maybe  after  a  while 
seek  other  fields." 

"  But,  Dabney,  would  you  go  away  from 
here  and  have  people  say  your  nerve  failed 
you  at  the  pinch?" 

is  217 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"No.  If  it's  to  be  my  funeral  they'll  find 
me  on  hand  at  the  proper  hour,  with  a  bunch 
of  pinies  in  my  hand." 

"That's  the  stuff.  Besides,  I've  got  a  par 
ticular  reason  for  wanting  you  to  stay  in 
town,  and  I  can't  tell  you  what  it  is  at  this 
juncture.  Come  along  and  I'll  buy  the 
cigars." 

They  put  on  their  hats  and  were  starting 
out  when  Oscar  came  in. 

"Mr.  Colquhoun,"  he  said,  "I  believe  I've 
struck  a  new  trail  of  that  horse  of  yours." 

"  Bring  forth  the  plaster  footprints  and  the 
tell-tale  straws,  Oscar,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"Haven't  got  that  kind  of  a  clew  this  time, 
Mr.  Bashford.  But  I've  struck  a  new  lead, 
Mr.  Colquhoun." 

"Well,  Oscar,"  the  Emigger  said,  "  I  wouldn't 
wear  myself  out  if  I  were  you.  Haven't  you 
got  some  other  mystery  you  can  unravel? 
You  see,  that  horse  has  passed  into  history  to 
a  certain  extent,  and  I'm  not  so  much  inter 
ested  in  it  as  I  was." 

Oscar's  face  fell  at  this,  and  the  Emigger 
noticed  it  and  said : 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you.     It's 

good  training  for  you,  anyhow,  and  if  you  like 

you  may  keep  on  the  trail  as  long  as  you  wish. 

But  at  this  time  I  cannot  promise  you  any 

218 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

other  reward  than  the  consciousness  of  a  duty 
well  done." 

"In  other  words,  all  for  love  and  the  world 
well  lost!"  Mr.  Bashford  said,  as  he  and  the 
Emigger  went  out.  As  they  stepped  from  the 
door  the  Emigger  took  off  his  hat  and  made 
a  low  bow.  Annie  Davis  was  going  up  street. 

Oscar  stayed  and  talked  with  me  about  how 
he  had  gone  through  old  Mr.  Gillup's  diary, 
and  got  barely  enough  information  to  show 
him  the  neighborhood  in  which  the  lost  horse 
was  bought.  He  was  very  enthusiastic,  and 
wanted  me  to  go  with  him  in  search  of  it,  but 
I  told  him  detecting  was  not  my  forte  and  I 
guessed  I  wouldn't  have  time  to  go  along. 


XXIII 

NOW,  I  have  read  somewhere  that  when 
two  or  three  people  think  one  thing  about 
another  person  that  other  person  is  almost 
sure  to  be  thinking  of  the  same  thing.  Pro 
fessor  Jones  says  this  is  a  psychological  mani 
festation,  but  after  he  says  that  he  runs  into  a 
whole  lot  of  long  words  about  subliminal 
things  and  secondary  impressions,  and  the 
puzzle  gets  so  mixed  up  you  can't  under 
stand  it. 

When  I  got  home  that  evening,  Annie  Davis 
was  at  our  house.  She  was  talking  to  ma  about 
something  the  missionary  society  was  going  to 
do,  and  as  soon  as  I  came  in  ma  said: 

"My  goodness!  You'll  have  to  excuse  me, 
Annie,  while  I  get  supper  started.  Pa  will  be 
home  next,  and  if  the  table  isn't  set  he  gets 
cross  as  a  bear." 

Annie  said  to  go  right  ahead,  and  that  she 

must  be  going  home  anyhow.     I  went  to  the 

door  with  her,  from  politeness,  and  after  she 

got  out  on  the  porch  she  stood  and  looked  up 

220 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

and  down  the  street  for  a  minute,  then  asked 
me: 

"How  is  Mr. — •  How  is  everything  at  the 
office,  Johnny?" 

"Everything  is  all  right,"  I  said. 

"Mr.  Bashford  is  as  jolly  as  ever?" 

"Oh  yes.     He's  jollier  than  ever." 

She  smiled,  and  then  looked  serious,  and 
went  on: 

"And — and  Mr.  Colquhoun?  I  suppose  he 
is  very  busy  now?" 

Then  I  knew  that  the  subliminal  conscience, 
or  whatever  it  is,  had  been  at  work.  Psy 
chology  was  manifesting  itself.  It  had  been 
in  my  mind  to  speak  to  Annie  about  the  Emig- 
ger;  no  doubt  he  had  been  trying  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  go  and  see  her  again ;  Mr.  Bashford 
had  been  saying  that  he  ought  to  do  it— and, 
of  course,  the  secondary  impressions  had  im 
pressed  her,  and  she  was  wanting  to  talk  to 
me  about  the  Emigger  as  bad  as  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  her.  I  stepped  out  on  the  porch,  too, 
and  told  her  the  Emigger  was  not  looking  as 
well  as  he  used  to. 

"  No  ?     Hasn't  he  been  well  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  told  her.  "I  think  there 
is  something  on  his  mind." 

"On  his  mind?  What  in  the  world  could  it 
be?" 

221 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  don't  know,  exactly,  but  I  think  he  is 
planning  to  go  away." 

I  wished  then  that  the  Emigger  could  have 
been  there  to  see  her  face  when  I  said  that. 
She  looked  as  dumfounded  as  you  can  im 
agine. 

"Going  away?"  she  asked.     "To  stay?" 

"I  guess  so." 

"But  what  is  the  matter?  Isn't  he  satis 
fied  here?" 

"He  always  has  seemed  to  be  until  of  late." 

"Maybe,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile  uncon 
cernedly — "maybe  he  has  a  sweetheart  back 
there  in  Virginia,  and  wants  to  go  back  and 
see  her." 

"Oh  no.  I  am  sure  he  hasn't.  He  isn't 
talking  about  going  back  there  at  all." 

She  looked  relieved  at  this,  and  then  said: 

"Oh,  well,  I  just  thought  I  would  ask  what 
had  become  of  him.  I  haven't  seen  him  for 
goodness  only  knows  how  long." 

I  felt  like  asking  her  why  she  didn't  ask  him 
about  that,  but  didn't.  I  said: 

"He  has  been  working  pretty  hard  at  the 
office  lately.  But  I  know  he  has  wanted  to 
see  you." 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes,  but  of  course  he  couldn't." 

"Why,  I'm  sure  he  could  if  he  wanted  to." 

222 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Yes,  he  could  see  you — with  George  Hor- 
wick." 

I  think  that  made  her  a  little  bit  mad,  for 
she  bit  her  lip  and  looked  rather  cross  at 
me. 

"Johnny  Thompson,  your  folks  taught  you 
better  manners,  I  know." 

"Better  manners  than  what?"  I  asked,  for 
I  had  my  spunk  up  now  and  didn't  care  what 
she  thought  about  my  manners. 

"Than  to  say  such  an  impudent  thing." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  impudent.  But  every 
body  in  town  knows  that  you  and  George  are 
going  together  again,  and  that  he  is  with  you 
as  often  as  he  can  be — so  what  chance  does 
Mr.  Colquhoun  or  anybody  else  have?" 

She  got  over  her  angry  spell  then  and  laughed 
at  me. 

"Why,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  jealous  of 
George  Horwick,  Johnny." 

"I  would  be  if  I  was  a  few  years  older,  I 
expect." 

"Oh,  dear!  If  you  talk  that  way  now,  what 
will  you  be  when  you  are  a  man?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  won't  let  anybody  cut 
me  out  if  I  want  to  go  with  a  girl." 

"  I  believe  you.  And  you  say  Mr.  Colquhoun 
is  going  away?" 

"  I  said  I  thought  maybe  he  was  going  away. 
223 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

I  shouldn't  tell  it,  I  guess,  but  I  have  heard  him 
say  as  much." 

"  No.  It  would  be  wrong,  of  course,  Johnny, 
for  you  to  tell  anything  like  that." 

"Then  I  think  I'd  better  not  tell  the 
rest." 

"What  is  the  rest?"  she  asked,  stopping  on 
the  top  step  and  turning  towards  me.  She 
had  been  slowly  edging  towards  the  steps  for 
a  few  minutes.  Now  she  leaned  against  the 
post  and  waited  for  me  to  tell  her. 

"The  rest  of  what?" 

"Of  what — of  what  Mr.  Colquhoun  says.  I 
won't  tell,  Johnny." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"Oh,  just — just  because." 

"Why,  he  didn't  say  anything  else  much. 
Only  that  he  felt  ashamed  of  the  way  he  had 
acted  here,  and  that  he  thought  people  must 
have  a  poor  opinion  of  him  for  the  show  he  had 
made  of  himself,  and  that  he— 

"The  very  idea!" 

"That's  what  I  think." 

"Go  on,  Johnny.     What  else?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  can  remember 
exactly  what  else  he  has  said,  except  that  it  is 
all  along  that  same  line,  but  I  do  know  what 
other  people  have  said." 

"Other  people?" 

224 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Yes.  I've  heard  other  people  talk  about 
him — and  you." 

"What  other  people?" 

"It  isn't  right  to  give  their  names." 

"  But  what  do  they  say  ?  I  don't  think  they 
have  a  right  to  discuss  my  affairs  that  way." 

"  I  didn't  say  how  they  discussed  them. 
Besides,  they  didn't  say  much." 

"What  did  they  say?" 

"  Oh,  I  just  heard  one  or  two  people  say  that 
they  didn't  think  you  were  treating  Mr.  Colqu- 
houn  right,  going  with  George  again,  and  giving 
Mr.  Colquhoun  the  cold  shoulder." 

"  Did  they  say  that  about  the  cold  shoulder." 

Her  eyes  were  snapping  again,  and  I  corrected 
my  remark. 

"  No.  I  put  that  in.  That's  the  way  it  looks 
to  me.  They  just  said  they  didn't  think  you 
were  treating  him  right." 

"Well,"  she  said,  looking  down  at  the  toe 
of  her  shoe,  then  up  at  me,  and  with  a  dimple 
in  her  cheek,  "Johnny,  when  you  get  to  be  a 
few  years  older,  and  folks  say  some  girl  isn't 
treating  you  right,  you  be  sure  it  isn't  for  the 
reason  that  you  aren't  giving  her  a  chance  to 
treat  you  right." 

I  was  going  to  go  ahead  and  tell  her  all  I  had 
heard  the  Emigger  say  to  Mr.  Bashford,  be 
cause  I  could  see  that  it  wasn't  her  fault  the 
225 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

way  things  were  turning  out,  when  she  turned 
and  started  down  the  steps,  and  then  stopped 
and  said: 

"  Johnny,  you're  a  friend  of  mine,  aren't  you  ? 
You  always  have  been." 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Well,  please,  please  don't  ever,  ever  breathe 
a  word  that  I  have  said  to  you,  or  ever  let  any 
body — not  even  a  certain  person — know  that 
we  have  had  this  talk." 

I  promised,  and  just  then  some  one  stopped 
at  our  gate.  I  thought  it  was  pa,  but  when  I 
looked  it  was  George  Horwick. 

" How  do  you  do,"  he  called  to  Annie.  "I'm 
going  your  way.  Are  you  going  home?" 

"You  see,  I  can't  help  it,"  she  said  to  me, 
and  started  off. 

"Oh,  Miss  Davis,"  I  called  to  her,  as  she 
left  the  steps.  She  stopped  and  turned  around, 
and  I  walked  down  slowly  to  her,  \vatching 
George  Horwick  quietly.  An  idea  struck  me. 
I  suppose  Oscar  Ferguson  would  have  called 
it  an  inspiration.  I  would  try  to  make  George 
Horwick  go  away  without  her.  Annie  stood, 
looking  first  at  me,  then  towards  the  gate, 
where  George  was  waiting  patiently. 

"  If  you  weren't  in  such  a  hurry,"  I  said,  sort 
of  confidentially, "  maybe  there  is  something  else 
I  could  tell  you  that  you  would  like  to  know." 
226 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  still  edging  tow 
ards  the  gate. 

"It  isn't  exactly  proper  for  me  to  tell  it," 
I  said,  "but  you  remember  the  day  Mr.  Colqu- 
houn  had  that  trouble  with  Branthorpe?" 

"Just  the  other  day,  when  he  made  him 
leave?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  I  remember  it.  What  were  you  going 
to  tell  me?" 

George  was  still  standing  at  the  gate,  fidget 
ing  around,  and  whistling  a  tune  to  himself. 
I  could  see  that  he  was  getting  impatient,  and 
that  he  wondered  why  Annie  should  stand 
there  and  talk  so  long  with  me  after  he  had 
asked  her  if  he  could  walk  home  with  her. 

"Mr.  Colquhoun  wrote  a  letter  to  somebody 
that  day,  to  be  mailed  after  he  had  the  fight 
with  Branthorpe,  if  he  should  have  had  the 
fight." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  Annie  said. 

"  I  mean  he  left  two  letters  on  his  desk,  one 
to  be  mailed  to  his  mother,  and  the  other  to 
somebody  else,  in  case  he — that  is,  if  he  hap 
pened  to — " 

"I  understand.  Go  on."  She  was  terribly 
interested  now,  and  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
that  George  was  still  waiting  for  her. 

"George  is  at  the  gate.  Hadn't  you  better 
227 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

be  going?"  I  asked  her,  as  if  that  was  the  most 
important  thing  in  the  world. 

"Oh,  bother  George!  What  else  about  the 
letters?  One  was  for  his  mother,  and  the 
other — who  was  it  for?" 

"A  young  woman." 

"Did  you  see  the  address?" 

"Yes.     He—" 

"Now,  Johnny,  it  would  be  fearfully  wrong 
for  you  to  tell  any  of  Mr.  Colquhoun's  secrets, 
but — but  I  wonder- 
She  turned  and  looked  towards  the  gate,  and 
did  not  appear  to  see  George  there,  although 
he  was  leaning  against  the  fence  and  looking 
towards  us  curiously.  I  was  enjoying  the  per 
formance.  You  see,  I  was  beginning  to  have 
some  experience  with  women.  Mr.  Bashford 
says  the  way  to  get  a  woman  interested  in  you 
is  to  arouse  her  curiosity,  and  I  was  following 
this  plan.  But  at  the  same  time  I  was  afraid 
ma  would  come  to  look  if  pa  was  home  yet  or 
not,  and  that  she  would  think  it  strange  for 
me  to  be  talking  there  with  Annie,  when  she 
thought  Annie  had  gone  home  several  minutes 
before.  Just  the  same,  I  was  determined  to 
wear  George  Horwick  out. 

"You  wonder  what?"  I  asked. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  give  me  a  hint  who 
the  letter  was  addressed  to." 
228 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  could,  but  I'll  have  to  make  a  bargain," 
I  told  her.  I  was  getting  bold  now. 

"A  bargain?" 

"Yes.  You  tell  George  to  go  on,  and  I'll 
walk  home  with  you  and  tell  you  on  the  way." 

"I  forgot  something,  Mr.  Horwick,"  she 
called  to  him.  "I'll  not  keep  you  waiting, 
thank  you.  I'm  not  going  home  this  minute." 

"  Oh,  I  can  wait  until  you  are  ready,"  George 
said. 

"  No,  no.  I  wouldn't  think  of  troubling  you, 
this  time.  Thank  you.  I  must  go  in  and  see 
Mrs.  Thompson  again." 

Well,  I  thought  to  myself  that  it  wasn't  any 
wonder  Annie  Davis  had  sent  the  Emigger  into 
a  steady  attack  of  the  blues.  I  always  thought 
I  was  pretty  good  at  making  up  excuses  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  but  the  way  Annie  Davis 
got  rid  of  George  Horwick,  and  at  the  same 
time  sent  him  away  in  a  fairly  good -humor 
towards  her,  was  a  revelation  to  me.  Squire 
Miller  says  women  begin  making  fools  of  men 
from  the  time  they  are  babies,  and  I  believe 
it  now.  George  said  he  was  sorry  and  went 
on  down  street,  and  Annie  went  into  our  house. 
I  followed  her  in. 

"Why,"  ma  said,  "I  thought  you  had  gone 
long  ago,  Annie,  or  I  would  have  been  out  on 
the  porch  with  you  a  little  bit." 
229 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  should  have  gone,  but  Johnny  began 
sparking  me,  and  I  had  to  stay,"  Annie  laughed. 

I  felt  bored. 

"Now,  take  off  your  things  and  stay  for  sup 
per,"  ma  urged  her. 

"  I  can't.  I  really  can't.  But  I  wish  you 
would  do  one  thing  for  me,  Mrs.  Thompson. 
Give  me  your  lemon-pie  receipt.  I've  been 
trying  to  remember  to  ask  you  for  it  for  I  don't 
know  how  long." 

"All  right,"  ma  said,  and  told  her  how  to 
make  the  lemon-pie,  then  said,  "  Now,  Johnny, 
it's  getting  late,  so  you  run  along  with  Annie 
and  take  her  home,  then  hurry  back  for  supper." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Thompson,"  Annie  replied,  "I 
wouldn't  impose  on  Johnny  so.  I  can  very 
well  go  by  myself." 

"  Indeed  you  sha'n't.  Johnny  will  be  glad 
to  go." 

So  I  took  her  home.  On  the  way  she  didn't 
say  much  of  anything,  and  I  began  to  think 
that  she  had  forgotten  what  she  wanted  me 
to  tell  her,  but  I  was  mistaken.  Mr.  Bashford 
says  no  woman  ever  forgets  anything  she 
wants  to  find  out.  When  we  went  by  the 
office  we  saw  the  Emigger  inside,  sitting  at  his 
desk,  writing.  I  noticed  that  Annie  looked  at 
him  all  the  time  we  were  going  past,  but  he 
did  not  raise  his  head. 

230 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Who  was  the  letter  for,  Johnny?"  she  asked 
me,  as  we  turned  the  corner  towards  her  home. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know ?"  I  asked.  "It 
wasn't  such  an  important  letter,  I'm  sure,  be 
cause  he  didn't  mail  it." 

"He  didn't?"  You  ought  to  have  heard 
how  relieved  her  voice  sounded. 

"No.     He  tore  it  up  the  next  day." 

"Was  it — was  it  to — ?" 

"If  he  didn't  mail  it,  it  doesn't  make  much 
difference  who  it  was  for,"  I  interrupted,  be 
cause  I  wanted  to  tease  her  a  little. 

"Johnny  Thompson,  if  you  don't  tell  me 
who  that  letter  was  for,  I'll  never  keep  an 
other  promise  to  you." 

"Will  you  make  me  another  promise?" 

"No.     Tell  me." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  right  for  me  to  tell  you  the 
name  that  was  on  the  envelope,  but  I'll  say 
this  much  :  it  wasn't  for  anybody  else  but 
you." 

"Then  why  didn't  he  mail  it?" 

"You'll  have  to  ask  him." 

We  were  at  her  gate  now,  and  she  stopped 
and  turned  to  go  in,  then  said: 

"  I  know  you  think  I  am  silly,  don't  you, 
Johnny?" 

"No.  I  think  you  are  pretty  wise."  I  did, 
too. 

231 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"But  I  am.  And  remember,  you  promised 
me  not  to  tell  about  our  talk." 

"I  won't  breathe  a  word  of  it,  Annie." 

"Of  course,  if  there  should  happen  to  be 
some  way  in  which  you  could  just  hint  in  any 
off-hand  way  to  some  one— 

"To  Mr.  Colquhoun?" 

"Don't  talk  so  loud!  Oh,  mercy,  no!  I 
didn't  mean  him  at  all!" 

Then  she  thanked  me  for  coming  home  with 
her  and  went  into  the  house,  and  I  walked 
back  home  trying  to  figure  it  out.  Truly,  as 
Mr.  Bashford  says,  by  the  time  a  man  under 
stands  women,  he  will  be  too  old  for  them  to 
care  whether  he  understands  them  or  not. 


XXIV 

FRIDAY  evening  Mr.  Bashford  and  the 
Emigger  were  talking  over  the  trip  the 
Emigger  was  to  make  on  Saturday.  This  is 
a  trip  that  Mr.  Bashford  usually  makes  him 
self.  He  goes  to  Kensington  and  three  or  four 
other  big  towns  and  solicits  advertising,  and 
enjoys  himself,  too.  Wherever  Mr.  Bashford 
goes  he  strikes  a  crowd  of  friends.  He  says 
that  one  reason  he  is  poor  is  he  has  too  many 
friends,  that  if  he  had  enemies  he  would  have 
worked  harder  just  to  show  them  that  they 
didn't  have  him  sized  up  right.  So  when  he 
makes  these  trips  he  gets  four  or  five  ads, 
maybe,  and  always  comes  home  kicking  about 
it,  saying  if  they  hadn't  kept  him  sitting 
around  telling  stories  he  could  have  seen  more 
firms  and  got  more  business. 

"You'll  do  better  than  I  can,"  he  told  the 
Emigger.  "Just  you  flap  your  long  -  tailed 
coat  into  a  store  and  demand  to  see  the  pro 
prietor,  and  you'll  scare  an  ad  out  of  him  in 
ten  minutes.  But,  say,  whatever  you  do,  don't 

16  233 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

ask  him  if  he  is  of  a  family  of  the  same  name 
in  Virginia." 

"I  won't,  Eli,"  the  Emigger  laughed. 

"And,  say,  Dabney,  you  leave  your  gun  at 
home,"  Mr.  Bashford  said,  with  a  worried  air 
that  he  was  just  putting  on. 

"  I  will.  My  weapon  is  in  the  top  drawer  of 
my  desk,  if  anybody  comes  in  to  whip  you 
while  I'm  gone." 

"All  right.  I  may  have  to  use  it  on  Mel 
Simpson,  if  I  put  in  the  item  I  heard  about  him 
to-day." 

"Who  is  Mel  Simpson?" 

"He's  old  Mel  Simpson,  and  he  lives  up  the 
creek,  and  he  makes  a  living,  he  claims,  trap 
ping  muskrats  and  selling  the  hides.  I  think, 
though,  that  in  the  winter  time  he  adds  to  his 
income  by  the  hot -board  method  of  securing 
chickens  for  the  market." 

"The  hot-board  method?" 

"Yes.  Takes  a  board  about  four  feet  long, 
leans  it  in  front  of  the  fire  for  a  couple  hours 
till  it  is  hot  clear  through,  then  tiptoes  to  some 
chicken  coop  with  it,  slides  the  hot  board  along 
the  roost,  and  the  chickens  just  step  over  onto 
the  hot  board  and  say  '  Thank  you '  to  Mel. 
Then  he  slips  them  into  a  wheat-sack  he  has 
provided  for  such  an  eventuation." 

"Pretty  good  scheme.  Was  that  the  item?" 
234 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"No.  Blest  if  I  didn't  come  near  forgetting 
that.  You  see,  Mel  is  one  of  the  leading  anti- 
race-suicide  men  in  these  parts.  The  census- 
taker  alwa}'s  gets  in  a  day's  work  by  the  time 
he  has  tabulated  the  Simpson  family.  And, 
besides,  naturally,  being  poor  as  Job's  turkey, 
Mel  has  about  the  largest  and  most  varied 
assortment  of  dogs  owned  in  this  section  of  the 
country.  Now,  I  understand  that  the  first  of 
the  week  Mel  went  somewhere  to  put  in  a  couple 
or  three  days'  work.  Naturally,  when  he  came 
home,  he  was  not  feeling  in  a  good -humor, 
work  being  a  very  trying  experience  for  him. 
And  to  add  to  his  annoyance  he  learned  that 
during  his  absence  a  new  member  of  the 
family  had  arrived." 

"New  baby?" 

"Just  so.  Boy.  Picture  of  his  papa,  I 
suppose.  And  Mel  is  boiling  mad  about  it." 

"About  the  baby?" 

"  Indirectly.  Mrs.  Simpson,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  got  the  lead  on  him  in  the  way 
of  naming  the  infant,  and  she  sent  for  a  preach 
er  and  had  it  baptized  and  christened  'Leo.' 
Mel  is  downright  fierce  about  it." 

"Doesn't  he  like  the  name?" 

"Yes,  he  likes  the  name.  That's  just  the 
trouble.  He  says  he  was  saving  that  name 
for  a  dog  he  was  going  to  get  this  fall,  and 
235 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

now  his  wife  has  stolen  it  for  the  young 
ster." 

The  Emigger  chuckled  over  it,  and  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  said: 

"Make  a  good  item,  won't  it?" 

"Yes,"  the  Emigger  said.  "It  would  make 
an  item  worth  ten  dollars." 

"I'll  use  it,  then." 

"All  right,  and  here's  my  half  of  the  ten 
dollars,"  said  the  Emigger,  taking  a  bill  from 
his  pocket. 

"Why,  are  you  going  to  pay  me  for  it?" 

"No,  Eli.  You  put  five  with  mine,  and  we'll 
send  the  ten  to  Mrs.  Simpson.  I  expect  she'll 
have  a  use  for  it.  And  it  will  show  our  appre 
ciation  for  her  kindness  in  furnishing  us  with 
a  funny  item." 

Mr.  Bashford  reached  into  his  pocket,  took 
out  five  dollars  in  silver,  and  laid  them  on  top 
of  the  Emigger 's  bill. 

"You  bet  it's  worth  it,  Dabney,"  he  said. 
"And  I'll  not  print  the  item  right  now,  either. 
And  Mr.  John  Thompson,  Esquire,  our  faith 
ful  and  devoted  assistant,  is  hereby  constituted 
a  committee  of  one  to  see  that  this  donation  is 
delivered  to  the  mother  of  Leo  Simpson  to 
morrow  morning." 

"I  thought  you'd  see  it  my  way  in  a  min 
ute,  Eli,"  the  Emigger  said.  "I  knew  you 
236 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

vrould  agree  with  me  that  it's  fair  to  poke  all 
the  fun  on  earth  at  a  man,  but  that  a  woman, 
no  matter  how  young  or  old,  or  pretty  or  ugly 
— and  few  of  them  are  ugly — is  not  made  for 
the  purpose  of  evoking  our  laughter." 

Mr.  Bashf ord  really  looked  a  little  bit  ashamed 
of  himself,  but  he  took  some  fine-cut  and  began 
smiling  again. 

"  Say,  Eli,  you're  going  a  swift  gait  with  that 
tobacco,"  the  Emigger  said  to  him.  "You 
seem  to  chew  four  times  as  much  as  formerly." 

"Yes.  I'm  laying  in  a  supply  for  some  time 
ahead.  I'm  going  to  stop  chewing,  you  know." 

"Going  to  stop?" 

"Yes.  One  of  these  times — just  thinking 
about  quitting,  that  is,"  Mr.  Bashford  replied, 
as  if  he  was  embarrassed. 

"  I  want  to  see  them  pinning  a  medal  on  you 
the  day  you  quit,"  the  Emigger  observed. 

"You  be  around  and  you'll  see  my  reforma 
tion." 

Then  they  talked  some  more  about  what  the 
Emigger  was  to  do  while  he  was  away,  and 
while  they  were  talking  a  stranger  passed  the 
office.  He  had  a  familiar  look  to  me,  and  a 
second  look  showed  me  that  he  was  the  man 
who  had  asked  me  so  many  questions  in  Mor 
gan's  clothing  store  at  Kensington  that  after 
noon  when  pa  and  ma  got  our  suits.  The 
237 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Emigger  rose  up  in  his  chair  and  said  some 
thing  under  his  breath,  then  sat  down  again. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Mr.  Bashford  asked. 

"If  I  didn't  know  better,  I'd  say  that  man 
who  just  passed  was  Pinkey  Sanger." 

"Your  old  friend  and  boyhood  feudist? 
Hardly." 

"  I  guess  it  wasn't  Pink.  But  there  surely 
was  a  strong  resemblance." 

I  should  have  told  the  Emigger  right  then 
that  this  man  had  asked  about  him  that  day 
in  Kensington,  and  that  the  man  had  said 
he  wanted  to  surprise  him.  I  should  have  told 
him  about  the  man's  left  ear  having  the  tip 
missing.  I  should  have  told  him  all  this,  but 
I  forgot  it  at  the  moment.  I  supposed  that  the 
Emigger  surely  knew  Pinkney  Sanger  when  he 
saw  him,  and  that,  as  he  said,  it  was  just  a 
chance  resemblance.  Oscar  Ferguson  would  have 
deducted  something  about  that  man  at  once, 
but,  as  I  have  said,  I  am  too  slow  with  theories. 

The  Emigger  got  up  before  long,  took  his 
grip,  and  went  to  the  train,  for  he  had  to  go 
to  Kensington  that  evening  so  as  to  get  a  good, 
early  start  next  day  and  be  home  Saturday 
night.  His  train  hadn't  been  gone  five  min 
utes  when  the  stranger  passed  the  office  again. 
This  time  the  stranger  peered  in  as  if  he  were 
looking  for  some  one. 

238 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"There  goes  that  fellow  again,"  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  said.  "Looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  come 
in  and  subscribe." 

I  don't  know  why,  but  I  got  nervous.  I  kept 
wondering  I  hadn't  made  a  mistake  in  not 
speaking  to  the  Emigger  about  the  man,  and 
wondering  what  on  earth  would  happen  if  he 
really  should  be  Pinkey  Sanger.  In  a  few 
minutes  Ike  Peters  came  into  the  office. 

"Hello,  Ike,"  said  Mr.  Bashford.  "How 
does  your  corporosity  seem  to  sagaciate?" 

"Fair  to  middling,"  Ike  replied.  "Say, 
where's  that  partner  of  yours?" 

"Colquhoun?  Just  gone  away  on  a  little 
trip.  Why?" 

"Nothing.  Only  there's  a  fellow  down  at 
the  hotel  that  wants  to  see  him,  I  guess." 

"You  guess?     Don't  you  know?" 

"Well,  he  didn't  exactly  say.  He's  been 
asking  a  lot  of  questions  about  Colquhoun, 
though,  and  when  I  told  him  Colquhoun  was 
in  the  Chronicle  office,  he  seemed  surprised, 
and  said  he  just  came  by  here  and  didn't  see 
him." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Didn't  ask  him." 

"You  didn't?     First  time  you  failed.   Usual 
ly  you  would  have  asked  a  stranger  his  name 
that  soon  after  meeting  him.     And  you  would 
239 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

have  asked  where  he  came  from  and  when  he 
left  there,  and  what  was  his  business,  and  how 
long  he  would  stay— 

"Oh,  get  out,  Mr.  Bashford!" 

"And  then  you'd  have  wound  up  by  asking 
him,  if  it  was  a  fair  question,  to  tell  you  how 
much  he  made." 

"You  know  better'n  that." 

"What  does  he  look  like?" 

"Got  a  bull-dog  face — looks  as  if  he  was 
going  to  say  'Bow!  Wow!'  all  the  time." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  tell  the  man  to  come 
and  see  me.  Maybe  he  wanted  some  printing 
done." 

"  Did  tell  him  you  was  Colquhoun's  partner, 
but  he  said  he  didn't  care  anything  about  that." 

"Well,  if  you  see  him  again,  tell  him  Colqu- 
houn  will  be  home  Sunday." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Bashford.  Say,  got  any  fine- 
cut?" 

"What's  that  in  front  of  you  on  the  desk?" 

"Thank  you."  And  Ike  went  out.  And 
he  hadn't  more  than  got  away  from  the  door 
till  Flora  Beavers  and  Annie  Davis  came  in. 
I  was  surprised  to  see  them,  and  they  seemed 
a  little  bit  bashful  about  coming  in,  too. 

"Come  right  in,  ladies,"  Mr.  Bashford  said, 
getting  up  and  pushing  a  couple  of  chairs  out  for 
them.  "This  is  an  unexpected,  but  a  highly 
240 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

appreciated,  pleasure.  What  can  the  palladium 
of  the  people,  otherwise  known  as  a  free  and 
untrammelled  press,  do  for  you?" 

He  turned  his  head  then  and  dropped  his 
chew  of  fine-cut  into  his  waste-basket,  but  Miss 
Beavers  saw  him  do  it. 

"Ah,  Eli!"  she  said,  shaking  her  finger  at 
him.  "What  did  I  tell  you?" 

Then  she  got  very  red  and  looked  at  Annie. 
I  knew  what  made  her  blush.  She  had  called 
Mr.  Bashford  "Eli,"  and  was  afraid  Annie  had 
noticed  it.  But  Annie  was  looking  all  about 
the  office,  as  if  she  were  curious  to  see  what 
wras  in  it.  I  knew  why  she  was  looking  around, 
too.  She  wanted  to  see  the  Emigger. 

Miss  Beavers  began  talking  right  away  about 
a  notice  the  missionary  society  wanted,  to 
cover  her  confusion,  but  it  was  funny  to  hear 
her  calling  him  "Mr.  Bashford"  one  minute 
and  "Eli"  the  next,  and  getting  more  and 
more  rattled  every  time. 

"We  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  print  the 
notice,  Miss  Beavers,"  Mr.  Bashford  said. 
"My  esteemed  partner  and  associate  in  the 
literary  field  is,  unfortunately  for  him,  absent 
at  this  moment,  and  I  know  he  will  be  over 
come  with  regret  when  he  learns  that  our  dull 
and  dingy  sanctum  has  been  illumined  by  the 
presence  of  two  such  fair  young — 
241 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bashford,"  Miss  Beavers  said, 
"you  are  such  a  flatterer!" 

"I'm  poetical,  you  know,"  he  replied,  look 
ing  at  her  with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  with 
the  same  expression  he  had  the  night  I  heard 
him  propose  to  her.  She  smiled  knowingly  at 
him,  then  asked  where  Mr.  Colquhoun  was. 

"He  has  gone  away." 

"Gone?"  Annie  asked,  as  if  she  couldn't 
believe  it. 

"Yes,  but  not  forgotten,"  Mr.  Bashford  told 
her.  "He  has  gone  to  the  wilds  of  Kensing 
ton  to  trail  the  advertiser  to  his  lair.  He  will 
return,  I  trust,  in  good  season,  and  be  per 
mitted  to  attend  divine  services  as  usual." 

"Eli,  you  are  positively  sacrilegious,"  Miss 
Beavers  said. 

"Hear  her  calling  me  by  my  first  name,"  he 
said  to  Annie,  "as  if  I  wrere  a  little  boy.  I  de 
clare,  I  begin  to  feel  so  young  that  I  believe  I 
will  join  you  ladies  in  your  walk,  if  you  will 
permit  me." 

"  Do.     That  will  be  nice,"  Miss  Beavers  said. 

"Yes,  we  will  be  delighted,"  Annie  said. 
"But  I  want  to  see  Johnny  print." 

She  came  back  to  the  case  where  I  was  while 

Mr.  Bashford  straightened  his  tie  and  got  his 

hat,  and  she  didn't  watch  me  set  type  at  all. 

She    just    looked    at   me    with    her    eyebrows 

242 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

raised,  as  if  she  was  asking  me  something. 
And  I  shook  my  head.  Then  she  joined  Mr. 
Bashford  and  Miss  Beavers,  and  they  went 
down  street. 

Oscar  came  along  as  I  was  starting  home, 
and  I  told  him  I  was  going  out  to  Mel  Simp 
son's  in  the  morning,  and  he  said  he  would  go 
with  me.  If  I  hadn't  had  it  knocked  out  of 
my  head  by  the  way  Miss  Beavers  talked  to 
Mr.  Bashford,  I  would  have  told  Oscar  about 
the  strange  man,  but  I  didn't  think  of  it  at  all 
until  after  Oscar  had  left  me. 


XXV 

QATURDAY  morning  Mr.  Bashford  gave 
O  me  the  ten  dollars  to  take  to  Mrs.  Simp 
son,  and  Oscar  and  I  went  out  there.  Mr. 
Bashford  had  told  me  to  be  sure  to  give  the 
money  to  Mrs.  Simpson  and  to  nobody  else. 

"Mel  Simpson,"  he  said,  "hasn't  got  enough 
sense  to  suck  alum,  and  can't  be  trusted  with 
over  four  cents  at  a  time." 

She  was  glad  to  get  it.  I  told  her  it  was  a 
present  from  Mr.  Bashford  and  Mr.  Colquhoun, 
and  she  asked  if  they  were  the  preachers  in 
town.  She  never  had  heard  of  either  of  them, 
as  the  Simpsons  don't  take  any  papers.  But 
she  was  awful  grateful  and  thanked  us,  and 
said  she  would  make  Mel  give  Oscar  and  me  a 
bird-dog  out  of  the  next  litter  of  pups.  After 
we  got  back  to  the  office  that  morning,  I  told 
Mr.  Bashford  about  her  not  knowing  who  he 
was,  and  he  said: 

"Such  is  fame.  Sic  transit  glory  on  Mon 
day.  Do  something  noble,  and  people  are 
either  wondering  how  you  do  it  or  why  you 
244 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

do  it.     Colquhoun  and  I  will  have  the  glow 
of  grace  and  you  boys  will  get  the  bird-dogs." 

Oscar  came  to  the  rear  of  the  office  and  sat 
on  the  stool  at  the  next  case  to  me  while  I  dis 
tributed  type.  He  had  something  on  his  mind, 
as  usual. 

"If  I  could  get  over  to  Sabina,"  he  said,  "I 
believe  I  could  locate  that  horse." 

"What  good  would  that  do?"  I  asked. 

"What  good  does  anything  do?  Don't  you 
suppose  I've  got  any  professional  pride?" 

"  But  Mr.  Colquhoun  doesn't  want  the  horse." 

"It's  his  horse,  isn't  it?  Then  it  is  his  duty 
to  have  it  and  to  take  care  of  it." 

"  But  the  horse  is  well  enough  off  where  it  is." 

"Maybe  so,  but  I'd  just  like  to  find  it,  even 
if  I  have  to  leave  it  where  it  is.  I  would  be 
satisfied  if  I  could  prove  that  I  have  been  on 
the  right  trail." 

"What  about  Dr.  Milton?" 

"I  don't  care.  There  was  evidence  against 
him,  anyhow.  But  of  course  I  found  that  he 
had  an  alibi,  or  a  habeas  corpus,  or  some  of 
those  legal  things." 

Mr.  Bashford  came  and  put  some  copy  on 
the  case,  and  asked  me  to  get  it  in  type  that 
afternoon  if  I  got  time.  He  said  to  Oscar: 

"Doing  much  Sherlocking  these  days?" 

"Not  very  much,"  Oscar  said. 
245 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"What  has  become  of  The  Missing  Horse, 
or  the  Mystery  of  the  Plaster  Footprint  and 
the  Fateful  Straws?" 

"I'm  working  that  out  all  right  now,  but 
Johnny  says  I  might  as  well  let  it  drop." 

"Don't  give  up  the  ship,  Oscar.  Old  Never- 
say-die  must  not  be  said  to  have  abandoned 
his  efforts  under  any  circumstances." 

Mr.  Bashford  went  out,  and  Oscar  kept  on 
talking  about  the  horse,  and  what  he  had  read 
in  old  man  Gillup's  diary,  and  how  he  wished 
he  could  get  his  folks  to  let  him  go  over  to 
Sabina  and  search  for  the  horse.  While  he 
was  talking  some  one  came  in,  but  I  supposed 
it  was  Mr.  Bashford  and  did  not  look  over  the 
top  of  the  case.  Pretty  soon  the  person  came 
and  stood  at  the  side  of  the  case  and  said: 

"Hello,  my  young  friend.  Did  you  get 
home  with  your  clothes?" 

It  was  the  man  with  the  nipped  ear.  I 
was  almost  scared  when  I  looked  up  and  saw 
him.  Oscar  slipped  down  from  his  stool  and 
strolled  back  of  the  imposing-stone  and  began 
fooling  with  a  lot  of  brass  rules  and  quoins. 

"Yes,  sir.  We  got  home  all  right,"  I  said 
to  the  man. 

"I  suppose  there  will  be  no  objection  to  my 
sitting  down  here  a  while  and  waiting  until 
my  friend  Colquhoun  comes  in  ?  I  understand 
246 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

he  is  connected  with  this  paper,"  the  stranger 
observed,  turning  and  going  to  the  front  of  the 
office  and  taking  a  chair.  I  was  so  rattled  I 
didn't  tell  him  the  Emigger  wasn't  in  town. 
He  sat  there  and  looked  over  the  papers.  Oscar 
slipped  around  beside  me  and  winked  mysteri 
ously.  He  took  a  stubby  pencil  from  his  pock 
et  and  scribbled  something  on  a  sheet  of  copy- 
paper  and  laid  it  before  me.  He  had  written: 

"Pinkney  Sanger." 

I  shook  my  head  as  if  I  was  in  doubt  about 
it,  but  Oscar  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  hair 
and  touched  the  tip  of  his  left  ear  significantly. 
I  had  told  Oscar  long  ago  about  how  the 
Emigger  and  Pinkney  Sanger  had  had  a  feud 
and  the  result  of  it.  Oscar  nodded  his  head 
vigorously  that  it  really  was  Sanger,  and  I  got 
so  nervous  I  let  half  a  handful  of  wet  type  fall 
into  the  space-box.  Oscar  grinned  at  me.  I 
was  worried  to  death.  If  Mr.  Bashford  came 
in  I  didn't  know  what  might  happen,  and  then 
I  knew  I  should  have  told  the  man  the  Emigger 
was  out  of  town.  I  was  about  to  do  so  when 
he  saved  me  the  trouble  by  coming  back  to 
me  once  more  and  asking: 

"How  soon  will  Dabney  be  in?" 

"I— I  don't  know,"  I  said. 

"Why  don't  you  know?" 

"Because  he  isn't  in  town." 
247 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Not  in  town?  He  was  in  town  yesterday. 
When  did  he  go  away?" 

' '  Yesterday  afternoon . ' ' 

The  man  looked  at  me  so  crossly  that  I  was 
scared.  I  remembered  how  Ike  Peters  had 
said  that  he  looked  as  if  he  was  just  going  to 
bark,  and  that  was  exactly  how  his  face  ap 
peared  then. 

"He  left  yesterday  afternoon,  did  he?" 

I  nodded. 

"Who  told  him  I  was  in  town?" 

"Nobody." 

"Nobody?  Look  here,  boy,  don't  try  any 
monkey-shines  with  me.  You  told  him  I  was 
here  and  he  lit  out." 

"  I  didn't  tell  him  anything  of  the  sort. 
Why  should  I?" 

He  looked  at  me  steadily  for  a  minute,  and 
then  seemed  to  believe  that  I  was  telling  him 
the  truth. 

"When  will  he  be  back?"  he  asked. 

"I  can't  tell  you." 

"  When  will  he  be  back  ?"  This  time  he  fair 
ly  growled  it  at  me.  This  convinced  me  that 
he  wasn't  there  for  any  good  purpose,  and  I 
got  my  nerve  back  some  way. 

"I  won't  tell  you." 

"So  he  ran  like  a  scared  dog,  did  he?     I'll 
make  him  run  again  if  I  meet  him." 
248 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"He  did  no  such  thing,  and  you  know  it," 
I  answered.  "You  didn't  run  him,  and  you 
can't  run  him.  I  don't  know  who  you  are, 
but  that  doesn't  make  any  difference.  He 
can  whip  you  and  a  dozen  like  you,  and  I  ex 
pect  he  has  whipped  you  before  this." 

The  man  doubled  up  his  fist  as  if  to  strike 
me,  but  he  changed  his  mind  apparently,  for 
he  began  to  smile. 

"Just  a  joke  of  mine,"  he  said,  trying  to  be 
pleasant.  "  I  really  want  to  see  Dabney  on 
important  business.  Do  you  think  he  will 
return  soon?" 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  when  he  will  return," 
This  was  true.  I  couldn't  tell  to  the  minute. 

"Well,  if  he  comes  in,  tell  him  James  Lee, 
from  his  old  home,  is  at  the  hotel."  Then  the 
stranger  went  out,  first  telling  me  I  was  a  nervy 
youngster  and  full  of  ginger,  but  that  I  would 
have  to  learn  to  know  a  joke  when  I  heard  it. 
After  he  had  gone  Oscar  took  his  arm  from 
behind  him  and  showed  me  a  heavy  sidestick 
he  had  been  holding. 

"If  he  had  made  a  move  at  you  I  was  going 
to  lay  him  out  with  this,"  he  said,  "and  then 
put  him  under  arrest.  I  know  he  is  Sanger. 
I'm  going  to  follow  him  and  see  what  he  does." 

Oscar  started  down  street  after  the  man, 
and  I  stood  in  the  office  door  until  Marshal 

17  249 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Smith  happened  along.  I  told  him.  about  the 
man,  and  that  I  believed  he  was  Pinkney 
Sanger,  and  was  here  to  have  trouble  with  the 
Emigger.  The  marshal  smiled  wisely  at  me 
and  said: 

"You've  been  dreaming  things,  Johnny. 
That  man  is  registered  as  James  Lee,  and  he  is 
going  to  sell  patent  churns  here.  He's  been 
talking  about  opening  an  office.  I  guess  he 
don't  aim  to  hurt  nobody." 

When  Mr.  Bashford  came  in  I  told  him  about 
it  and  what  Oscar  and  I  believed,  and  he  said 
I  \vas  letting  my  imagination  get  the  best  of 
me.  He  said  the  man  was  kidding  me,  to  see 
what  I  would  do,  and  that  I  shouldn't  let 
Oscar  lead  me  into  another  mare's-nest,  like 
he  did  the  night  he  got  me  to  go  writh  him 
and  follow  Dr.  Milton.  This  was  the  first  time 
I  knew  that  Mr.  Bashford  knew  about  that 
episode,  and  I  was  so  taken  back  that  I  couldn't 
say  a  word.  I  began  working  again,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Oscar  came  in  looking  queer. 

"Say,  Johnny,"  he  whispered,  "what  do 
you  suppose  that  fellow  did  to  me?" 

I  simply  looked  at  him  as  if  to  tell  him  to 
go  ahead. 

"I  followed  him  to  the  hotel,  and  from  there 
to  the  depot,  and  then  back  up  street.  He 
kept  dodging  around  from  one  street  to  an- 
250 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

other,  and  every  once  in  a  while  he  would  look 
back  at  me.  Finally  he  slowed  up  until  I  over 
took  him  out  by  the  lumber-yard  where  there 
weren't  any  folks  around,  and  he  turned  and 
kicked  me  a  couple  of  times  and  said  if  I  fol 
lowed  him  any  more  he'd  knock  my  fool  head 
off.  Johnny,  he's  a  bad  man,  and  he's  smooth 
as  glass." 

While  it  amused  me  to  think  of  Oscar's  sur 
prise  when  the  man  booted  him,  I  was  more 
and  more  convinced  that  his  actions  meant 
something.  And  I  wished  there  were  some 
way  for  me  to  get  word  to  the  Emigger.  All 
afternoon  I  worried  about  it  and  jumped  a 
little  bit  every  time  any  one  came  into  the 
office.  The  stranger  didn't  return  at  all,  how 
ever,  and  Oscar,  who  had  been  keeping  his 
eyes  open,  said  he  hadn't  left  the  hotel  since 
noon,  except  to  go  and  meet  the  two  trains 
that  came  in.  The  Emigger  didn't  come  home 
on  the  six  o'clock  train  from  Kensington,  so  I 
concluded  he  must  have  missed  it  and  would 
probably  drive  up.  I  wrent  to  Mrs.  Lancaster's 
and  left  a  note  for  him  telling  him  about  the 
stranger  and  urging  him  to  be  careful.  Mrs. 
Lancaster  said  she  would  give  it  to  him  as  soon 
as  he  came.  She  laid  it  on  the  mantel,  under 
a  vase  filled  with  paper  lamplighters,  arid  I 
suppose  it  is  there  yet  if  she  hasn't  cleaned 

251 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

house,  for  she  never  gave  it  to  him.  I  stayed 
at  the  office  till  nine  o'clock  that  night,  and 
then  made  another  trip  to  Lancaster's,  but 
the  Emigger  had  not  returned.  From  there  I 
walked  down  as  far  as  the  depot  and  then  came 
back  in  front  of  the  hotel.  The  strange  man 
was  sitting  in  front  smoking. 

"Hello,  boy,"  he  said.  "Colquhoun  home 
yet?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Huh!  And  I'll  bet  money  he  doesn't  come 
back.  Just  like  him  to  fool  me  that  way." 

He  laughed  as  if  he  was  joking,  and  got  up 
and  went  inside.  I  went  on  home,  and  there 
I  told  pa  about  the  matter,  but  he  said  Oscar 
Ferguson  had  filled  me  up  with  so  much  of  his 
detective  nonsense  that  I  was  getting  foolish. 

Next  morning — Sabbath — after  breakfast  I 
wanted  to  go  over  to  Mrs.  Lancaster's,  but  pa 
wouldn't  let  me.  He  said  if  I  had  any  word 
for  the  Emigger  I  could  tell  it  to  him  after 
church.  So  I  had  to  get  dressed  and  ready 
for  church.  The  Emigger  was  there  when  we 
arrived,  and  I  certainly  felt  better  to  see  him. 
I  hadn't  slept  much  for  imagining  all  sorts  of 
things  that  might  happen,  and  when  I  did  get 
to  sleep  I  dreamed  a  regular  nightmare  about 
the  Emigger  being  chased  by  a  mule  that  kept 
yelling  that  it  belonged  to  Colonel  Tobe  Sang- 

252 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

er's  grandfather.  I  awoke  in  a  sweat  and 
trembling  all  over.  During  the  services  I  hap 
pened  to  look  towards  Oscar.  He  was  wink 
ing  his  eye  and  jerking  his  head  sideways  for 
me  to  look  out  of  the  window.  I  looked,  but 
couldn't  see  anything  more  than  usual,  so  I 
raised  my  eyebrows  at  Oscar.  He  looked 
queerly  at  me,  then  ducked  down  and  got  his 
hat  and  tiptoed  out.  At  the  door  he  looked 
back  and  motioned  with  his  head  for  me  to 
follow  him.  Pretty  soon  I  stooped  down  and 
got  my  hat,  although  ma  tugged  at  my  sleeve. 
I  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  her,  just  took 
my  hat  and  edged  to  the  aisle  and  tiptoed  out 
as  if  I  had  been  taken  sick,  or  something  like 
that.  I  tried  to  look  pale. 

At  the  door,  outside,  I  met  Oscar.  He  had 
his  finger  on  his  lips  and  started  down  the 
steps  and  down  street. 

"Don't  give  yourself  away,"  he  said,  be 
neath  his  breath,  "but  look  behind  that  big 
oak-tree  alongside  the  church." 

I  pretended  to  rub  some  dust  out  of  my  eye, 
and  looked,  and  there  stood  that  stranger. 
I  was  sure  it  was  Sanger  by  this  time.  He 
was  hiding  back  of  the  tree,  practically,  and 
watching  the  church  door.  Just  as  I  looked 
he  turned  and  saw  us  and  started  towards  us. 
We  ran.  He  didn't  follow  us.  We  ran  for  a 
253 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

block,  then  doubled  the  corner  and  came 
around  the  other  way  and  watched  him.  He 
was  still  standing  back  of  the  tree  and  watch 
ing  in  all  directions. 

"What  is  he  up  to,  do  you  suppose?"  I 
asked. 

"There's  going  to  be  trouble.  Look  how 
he  holds  his  hand  in  his  pocket." 

He  had  his  hand  in  a  side-pocket,  and  I  could 
see  what  looked  to  be  the  butt  of  a  revolver 
sticking  out  beyond  his  hand. 

"He's  after  the  Emigger,"  I  said. 

"Let's  go  and  tell  Marshal  Smith." 

"No.  I  know  what  to  do.  The  Marshal 
would  be  afraid  to  tackle  him.  I'm  going  to 
get  the  Emigger's  revolver  for  him." 

I  slipped  away  and  ran  to  the  office,  and 
there,  of  course,  I  found  the  door  locked.  I 
might  have  known  that.  I  have  one  key  to 
the  door,  but  it  was  at  home  in  my  other  pants. 
I  ran  home  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  when  I  left 
the  house  with  the  key  I  could  hear  the  people 
at  church  singing  the  last  psalm.  I  would 
have  to  hustle  or  it  would  be  too  late.  I  re 
member  thinking  as  I  flew  along  the  street  of 
how  peaceful  and  good  everything  seemed, 
with  the  music  of  that  psalm  floating  out  into 
the  air  and  the  sunshine  brightening  the  red- 
and- yellow  leaves  of  the  trees.  It  was  hard 

254 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

to  imagine  that  there  could  be  men  in  such  a 
beautiful  world  who  would  lie  in  wait  for  others 
to  do  them  harm.  I  got  into  the  office,  pulled 
open  the  top  drawer  of  the  Emigger's  desk, 
grabbed  the  revolver,  and  ran  out,  without 
stopping  to  lock  the  door.  There  was  no  time 
for  that. 

Up  street  I  sped  as  hard  as  I  could  run. 
At  Jordan's  grocery  I  almost  ran  over  Lafe 
Skidmore  and  Ike  Peters,  who  were  loafing 
there  discussing  something.  I  bumped  into 
Ike  and  knocked  him  against  Lafe,  and  the 
two  of  them  stumbled  and  fell  against  the  side 
of  the  building.  As  I  went  on,  Ike  yelled : 

"Hi,  you  dadgummed  little  fool!  What  you 
try  in'  to  do?  Kill  some  one?" 

"Where  you  goin'  with  that  gun?"  Lafe 
shouted. 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  too  near  winded. 
Already  I  had  a  pain  in  my  side  that  you  get 
when  you  run  too  far  and  too  fast  with  your 
mouth  open  and  get  out  of  breath.  They  say 
if  you  keep  running  the  pain  will  stop  and  you 
will  get  your  second  wind.  I  heard  the  foot 
steps  of  Lafe  and  Ike  as  they  ran  up  street 
after  me. 

When  I  turned  off  the  pavement  and  dashed 
up  the  walk  to  the  church  door,  I  heard  the 
rustle  of  dresses  and  hum  of  voices,  which  told 
255 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

me  that  the  congregation  had  been  dismissed. 
Sanger  saw  me  running  and  shouted  at  me, 
but  I  took  the  steps  at  a  leap  and  scared  Or- 
phena  Green  out  of  a  year's  growth  when  I 
met  her  as  she  was  coming  through  the  lobby 
with  Mrs.  Anderson.  She  shrieked  and  held 
her  hand  to  her  heart,  and  looked  like  a  fright 
ened  chicken.  But  I  kept  on,  and  almost  fell 
into  the  bunch  of  people  that  was  coming  from 
the  pews. 


XXVI 

I  GUESS  I  must  have  looked  crazy  bursting 
into  the  church  with  that  big  revolver  in 
my  hand.  People  jumped  away  from  me  and 
exclaimed  different  things,  and  asked  what  in 
the  world  was  the  matter,  but  I  tore  through 
the  crowd  towards  the  Emigger. 

"Pinkney  Sanger  is  out  there  ready  to  way 
lay  you!"  I  said,  putting  the  revolver  in  his 
hand.  "  He's  hiding  back  of  the  big  oak-tree." 

"Who?  What,  Johnny?"  he  asked.  Miss 
Beavers  lifted  her  hands  and  gasped  at  sight 
of  the  revolver;  Mr.  Bashford  started  towards 
the  Emigger;  Annie  Davis  was  a  little  way  be 
hind  him,  and  I  saw  her  turn  white.  The 
other  people  stood  in  their  tracks,  too  dum- 
founded  to  move. 

"He's  out  there  now,"  I  went  on.  "I  saw 
him  and  ran  and  got  your  gun.  Look  out  for 
him." 

"I  think  Johnny  is  somewhat  excited,"  the 
Emigger  said  to  those  near  us.     "I  will  step 
out  and  see  what  may  be  wrong." 
257 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

I  was  so  worked  up  I  didn't  know  what  I 
was  doing.  It  was  my  place  to  have  stayed 
inside  the  church,  but  when  the  Emigger 
started  out  I  ran  ahead  of  him,  saying: 

"I'll  show  you  where  he  is." 

"No!  No!  Johnny,  come  back  here!"  the 
Emigger  cried,  but  I  was  already  at  the  door, 
and  he  ran  out  right  behind  me. 

"You  had  to  tell  him,  you  little  devil!" 
shouted  Sanger.  "I'll  get  you  first!" 

Bang!  A  streak  of  fire  blazed  out  from  be 
side  the  oak  -  tree  and  something  hot  flashed 
through  my  right  shoulder.  I  rolled  over  and 
over  down  the  steps,  and  when  I  reached  the 
bottom  I  tried  to  get  up,  but  couldn't.  I  felt 
all  gone  inside,  and  could  just  sit  against  the 
lower  step  and  watch  the  Emigger  coming 
down.  He  was  bareheaded,  and  his  big  re 
volver  was  in  his  hand.  He  ran  down  the  steps 
to  me,  and  bent  over  me  and  said: 

"  My  God !     Did  he  get  you  ?" 

"In  the  shoulder,  I  think,"  I  answered. 
"It  don't  hurt." 

For  the  first  time  since  I  had  known  him  the 
Emigger  swore.  Some  way  it  did  not  sound 
wicked,  because  he  swore  in  a  whisper,  and  then 
said: 

"  I'll  make  him  pay  for  this.     Get  up,  Johnny, 
and  let  me  take  you  inside." 
258 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Bang! 

Another  streak  of  fire  from  beside  the  tree, 
and  a  lock  of  hair  flew  off  of  the  Emigger's 
head.  He  straightened  up  and  ran  down  the 
walk  to  the  gate.  In  the  church  door  I  could 
see  a  lot  of  people  huddled  together,  looking 
out  as  if  they  could  not  yet  understand  what 
was  going  on.  My  mother  pushed  her  way 
through  the  crowd  and  started  to  come  to  me, 
but  Mr.  Bashford  took  her  by  the  arms  and 
pushed  her  back.  Then  he  started  out,  but 
Miss  Beavers  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  said  he  must  not  go. 

"Let  go  of  me,  Flora,"  he  said.  "I'll  be 
right  back  as  soon  as  I  get  Johnny." 

Then  I  heard  the  Emigger  talking. 

"Come  out  from  behind  that  tree,  Pink,"  he 
said.  "Come  out.  I'll  give  you  a  fair  fight." 

"You've  got  two  more  loads  than  me," 
Sanger  answered.  "You've  got  the  advan 
tage  now." 

One  of  those  shots  Sanger  didn't  have  had 
hit  me,  and  the  other  had  cut  the  lock  of  hair 
off  the  Emigger's  head. 

"You've  had  two  shots  to  his  none,"  I  tried 
to  say,  but  couldn't  talk  very  loud.  The 
Emigger  pointed  his  revolver  in  the  air  and 
shot  twice. 

"Come  out,"  he  said.  "That  sets  us  even." 
259 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Sanger  jumped  from  behind  the  tree  and 
shot  as  he  ran  towards  another  tree.  The 
Emigger  stood  there,  smiling  calmly,  and  when 
Sanger  turned  to  see  what  he  was  doing,  the 
Emigger  brought  his  revolver  up  and  blazed 
away  as  quick  as  lightning.  Sanger  stopped 
and  jerked  his  left  hand  to  his  right  ear. 

"Nipped  your  other  ear,  Pink!"  the  Emigger 
laughed.  "Atorays  wanted  to  make  you  look 
like  you  weren't  lop-sided." 

Bang !     Bang ! 

Sanger  shot  twice  at  him  and  swore  dread 
fully.  I  saw  the  Emigger  waver  a  little  bit, 
and  noticed  that  his  left  arm  dropped  as  limp 
as  a  rag.  I  was  afraid  he  had  been  hit.  Then, 
suddenly,  his  eyes  began  to  blaze,  and  he  be 
gan  biting  his  mustache. 

"Seems  like  I've  got  to  do  it,  Pink,"  he 
called.  "But  I  don't  want  to." 

Sanger  shot  at  him  again,  and  at  the  same 
instant  the  Emigger's  gun  began  to  spit  fire. 
Bang!  bang!  bang!  Sanger's  right  arm  crum 
pled  in  the  air  and  wabbled  at  his  side,  and  his 
pistol  fell  to  the  ground.  He  bent  over  to  get 
it,  and  the  Emigger  shot  him  again,  this  time 
in  the  leg,  for  his  right  leg  buckled  under  him 
and  he  sagged  to  the  ground.  The  Emigger 
ran  to  him  and  got  his  revolver  and  said: 

"Got  enough?" 

260 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Sanger  didn't  answer. 

"Got  enough?  Or  do  you  want  me  to  beat 
your  brains  out  with  your  own  gun?  It's 
coming  to  you!" 

From  the  way  the  Emigger  looked  then,  it 
would  have  taken  a  mighty  brave  man  to  at 
tempt  to  stop  him,  but  Mr.  Bashford  came 
down  the  steps  rapidly  and  ran  towards  them. 
He  caught  the  Emigger 's  hand  and  said: 

"Don't,  Dabney!     Don't!" 

"No,  don't,  Dab,"  Sanger  said,  faintly. 
"I've  got  enough." 

And  then  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
I  was  sitting  with  my  head  against  ma's  shoul 
der  and  that  she  was  crying  and  praying  at  the 
same  time. 

"I'm  all  right,  ma,"  I  said.  "Don't  worry 
about  me." 

"My  poor  boy!  He  is  killed!"  she  said. 
"He  is  all  over  blood!" 

And  just  then  I  saw  the  Emigger  slip  from 
Mr.  Bashford's  hands  and  fall  headlong  across 
Pinkney  Sanger. 

"Tell  Doc  Henderson  to  come  here!"  Mr. 
Bashford  cried.  "These  men  are  dead,  I  be 
lieve." 

Dr.  Henderson  hurried  down  the  steps,  but 
Annie  Davis  ran  ahead  of  him  and  lifted  the 
Emigger's  head  into  her  lap  as  she  sat  beside 
261 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

him.  She  took  her  handkerchief  and  wiped 
his  forehead  and  sobbed: 

"Look  up,  Dabney!  Look  up!  Are  you 
dead?" 

The  Emigger's  eyes  came  open  slowly,  and 
he  forced  a  smile  as  he  saw  her  face  above  his, 
and  answered: 

' '  Not — dead — yet.  Unless — you're — an — 
angel." 

They  carried  me  into  the  church  and  laid 
me  on  a  bench  in  the  lobby,  then  brought  the 
Emigger  in  and  wanted  to  lay  him  down,  too. 
But  he  objected.  He  sat  in  a  big  chair  while 
Dr.  Henderson  cut  his  sleeve  off  and  found 
that  the  bullet  had  broken  his  arm.  I  wasn't 
hurt  very  much.  The  bullet  that  got  me  had 
simply  passed  through  the  muscles  on  the 
edge  of  my  shoulder.  Dr.  Henderson  tied  a 
handkerchief  around  my  wound,  and  said  he 
would  dress  it  properly  when  I  got  home. 
Then  he  sent  to  his  office  for  some  splints  and 
set  the  Emigger's  arm.  Annie  Davis  stood 
around  and  handed  the  doctor  things  as  he 
needed  them. 

"You're  a  first-rate  nurse,  Miss  Davis,"  the 
doctor  said. 

"Yes,"  the  Emigger  remarked.  "It's  worth 
while  to  be  hurt  under  the  circumstances." 

They  had  brought  Sanger  in  and  laid  him 
262 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

on  another  bench.  He  was  shot  up  pretty 
much.  Three  bullets  had  landed  in  him  be 
sides  the  one  that  nipped  his  right  ear.  One 
was  in  his  right  arm  near  the  shoulder,  another 
had  grazed  his  side,  breaking  a  rib,  and  another 
had  landed  in  his  right  thigh.  Dr.  Henderson 
said  he'd  better  be  taken  to  his  bed  at  the 
hotel. 

The  Emigger,  after  his  arm  was  fixed,  went 
over  to  Sanger  and  said: 

"Pink,  I'm  mighty  sorry  this  happened.  I 
hoped  it  never  would,  after  I  came  away  to 
avoid  it." 

"I've  got  enough,  Dab,"  Sanger  said,  weak 
ly.  "I've  got  enough.  I  was  a  fool  to  follow 
you,  but  I  thought  you  weren't  game.  I'll — 
I'll  call  it  quits,  if  you  will." 

"All  right,  Pink,"  said  the  Emigger. 

"And  I'll  shake  hands  with  you  on  it," 
Sanger  continued,  "as  soon  as  my  right  arm 
gets  well.  Say,  boy"  -to  me  —  "you've  got 
grit." 

I  smiled  foolishly,  I  think. 

"Grit?"  asked  the  Emigger.  "That  boy  is 
carved  out  of  sandstone  and  granite." 

"Mr.  Colquhoun,"  ma  said,  "the  doctor  says 
you  must  be  quiet  for  a  few  days,  so  you  must 
come  to  our  house  until  you  get  well." 

He  objected,  but  she  insisted  so  hard  that 
263 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

he  accepted.  A  carriage  came  up  to  take 
Sanger  to  the  hotel.  I  felt  sorry  for  him. 
He  hadn't  any  friends.  The  people  stood 
around  and  watched  while  we  all  left.  Mr. 
Bashford  took  the  Emigger  and  me  home  in 
Beavers'  carriage.  Oscar  came  to  the  carriage 
when  we  had  been  helped  in,  and  asked  Mr. 
Bashford : 

"What  do  you  think  of  old  Never-say-die's 
theories  now?" 

"I  owe  you  a  sack  of  peanuts,  Oscar,"  Mr. 
Bashford  replied,  with  a  grin. 

And  so  it  was  Pinkney  Sanger,  sure  enough. 
Dr.  Henderson  had  to  work  over  him  a  long 
time  at  the  hotel  before  he  had  him  fixed  up 
properly.  After  attending  to  Sanger  he  came 
to  our  house  and  dressed  my  wound.  It  wasn't 
anything,  though,  no  more  than  a  cut  finger 
would  be.  But  you  would  have  thought,  to 
hear  my  folks  and  other  people  talk  about  it, 
that  I  had  been  through  a  war.  Dr.  Hender 
son  said  that  Sanger  was  sorry  now  that  he 
had  come  here. 

"I  should  think  he  would  be,"  Mr.  Bashford 
observed.  "I  know  I'd  have  a  full  meal  of 
vain  regrets  if  I  had  been  punctured  as  often 
as  he  has." 

Dr.  Henderson  had  talked  with  Sanger,  and 
Sanger  had  told  him  all  about  how  he  hap- 
264 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

pened  to  come  here.  Branthorpe  was  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  Branthorpe  had  learned  of  the 
Emigger's  feud  with  Pinkney  Sanger  from  Mr. 
Gooch,  the  manager  of  that  show  company. 
After  Branthorpe  got  out  of  town  so  fast,  he 
wrote  to  Sanger  and  told  him  where  the  Emig- 
ger  was,  and  also  told  him  that  the  Emigger 
was  always  boasting  about  having  whipped  him 
and  having  scared  his  whole  family  so  much 
that  they  were  afraid  to  travel  on  the  big  road. 
Of  course  this  made  Sanger  mad,  and  he  started 
after  the  Emigger.  And  being  in  a  strange 
part  of  the  country,  he  went  about  finding  the 
Emigger  in  a  very  cautious  way,  and  that  was 
how  I  happened  to  discover  who  he  was.  Or 
maybe  it  was  Oscar  who  discovered  his  iden 
tity.  I  can't  decide  that  yet. 

Nearly  everybody  in  town  came  to  our  house 
that  afternoon,  but  none  of  them  got  to  see 
the  Emigger  or  me  except  a  few  that  we  didn't 
mind.  Dr.  Henderson  had  ordered  us  to  be 
as  quiet  as  possible.  Town  -  Marshal  Smith 
came  up  along  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
and  wanted  to  know  if  the  Emigger  would 
swear  out  a  warrant  against  Sanger. 

"What  for?"  the  Emigger  asked. 

"Shootin'  at  you,  of  course." 

"  Don't  see  how  I  could.    He  could  prove  that 
I  had  a  weapon  and  he  shot  in  self-defence." 
»8  265 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  But  somebody  ought  to  be  arrested.  Can't 
overlook  this  thing  of  two  people  blazin'  away 
and  raisin'  Cain  right  in  front  of  the  church — 
an'  Sunday  mornin',  too." 

"Well,  go  and  see  Pink.  Maybe  he'll  swear 
out  a  warrant  on  me." 

"  No.  He's  the  one  that  ought  to  be  ar 
rested.  By  ginger,  I'll  bet  you  this  shootin' 
wouldn't  have  happened  if  I'd  been  there! 
The  idea!  Shootin'  that  way  right  in  front  of 
the  church — an'  Sunday  mornin',  too." 

"Why  don't  you  pinch  them  all  for  Sab 
bath-breaking?"  Mr.  Bashford  asked. 

"Well,"  the  Marshal  said,  starting  out,  "I'll 
see  what's  to  be  done  under  the  law,  but  if  I'd 
been  up  there  when  this  thing  happened,  it 
wouldn't  have  happened,  I  can  tell  you." 

Marshal  Smith  was  a  block  away  when  the 
shooting  commenced,  and  they  tell  it  on  him 
that  some  one  met  him  going  the  other  way 
as  fast  as  he  could  and  asked  him  what  was 
his  rush.  He  said  he  was  going  home  to  get 
his  uniform  and  then  hurry  back  and  stop  the 
fight. 


XXVII 

MONDAY  I  didn't  have  to  go  to  school, 
because  my  shoulder  hurt  me  too  much. 
But  I  was  able  to  go  down-town  a  while  in  the 
morning.  The  Emigger  wanted  to  go,  but 
Dr.  Henderson  told  him  he  must  not,  that 
complications  might  set  in  and  cause  him  to 
be  seriously  ill.  So  the  Emigger  grumbled  a 
good  deal,  and  smoked  and  read  while  sitting 
in  a  big  chair  at  our  house. 

Everybody  in  town  was  telling  what  he  did 
while  the  shooting  was  going  on,  if  he  had  hap 
pened  to  be  there,  or  what  he  would  have  done 
if  he  had  been  on  the  spot.  Ike  Peters  and  Lafe 
Skidmore  had  an  audience  all  day  in  front  of 
Jordan's  grocery.  They  told  their  story  over 
and  over  until  they  both  got  hoarse.  They 
would  begin  with  the  moment  I  ran  into  them 
while  I  was  taking  the  revolver  up  street,  and 
then  would  tell  the  story  together. 

"I  knew  there  was  something  up  the  way 
that  boy  was  hitting  the  ground  with  his  feet," 
Ike  would  say,  and  then  Lafe  would  cut  in: 
267 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"So  did  I,  and  when  I  saw  that  big  pistol 
in  his  hand  I  says  to  myself,  says  I,  there's 
going  to  be  trouble  in  this  town  before  an 
other  hour,  and  then— 

"And  then,"  Ike  would  take  it  up,  "Lafe 
and  me  got  up  and  untangled  ourselves  off 
the  grocery  steps,  where  we  fell  when  Johnny 
bumped  against  us,  and  we  struck  out  after 
him—" 

"Him  a  running  like  a  whitehead,"  Lafe 
would  say,  and  Ike  would  go  on : 

"And  we  asked  him  what  was  the  matter, 
but  he  never  said  a  word,  and  we  followed  him, 
and  when— 

"When  we  got  to  the  church-yard  this  here 
fellow  Sanger  jumped  from  back  of  a  tree  and 
pointed  a  young  cannon  at  us,  and — 

"And  Ike  he  got  behind  a  tree,  but  I— 

"  Didn't  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  You  got  be 
hind  the  tree,  and  I  says  to  this  fellow  Sanger, 
says  I,  '  What's  the  matter  here  ?'  And  he — 

"He  told  us  to  get  out  of  there  or  he'd  let 
daylight  into  us— 

"  So  we  run  across  the  street  and  stood  back 
of  Tom  Madden's  woodshed  and  watched,  and 
first  thing  we  knew  the  war  was  on.  I  was  for 
going  over  and  grabbing  Sanger,  but  Lafe  he— 

"No  such  thing.     I  started  to  go  and  hold 
him,  but  Ike  pulled  me  back!" 
268 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"And  then  we  saw  that  Thompson  boy  lay- 
in'  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  and  this  here  editor 
fellow,  Colquhoun,  standing  with  his  pistol 
drawed,  and  daring  Sanger  to — 

"Looked  as  unconcerned,  by  ginger!  as  if  he 
was  invitin'  Sanger  to  take  a  seegar." 

"And  then  binge ty-bang-bing !  all  over  the 
church-yard,  and  bullets  zippin'  and  singin'  in 
my  ears,  an'— 

"An'  Ike  he  laid  down  on  the  ground  an' 
made  hisself  as  flat  as  he  could,  but  I— 

"Huh!  You  said  you'd  whip  me  for  drag- 
gin'  you  into  such  a  place — 

And  so  they  would  go  on,  over  and  over, 
getting  so  mixed  up  in  their  stories  that  no 
body  could  make  head  or  tail  of  what  they 
told,  and,  as  Mr.  Bashford  said,  it  began  to  look 
as  if  Ike  and  Lafe  were  suffering  from  intellect 
ual  blind  staggers. 

"Well,  Johnny,"  Mr.  Bashford  said  to  me, 
when  Oscar  and  I  went  into  the  office  after 
standing  around  in  front  of  Jordan's  and  lis 
tening  to  Ike  and  Lafe  for  a  while,  "how  do 
you  feel  after  your  blood-and-thunder,  wild- 
and- woolly,  Kit  -  Carson  -  and- Jesse -James  ex 
perience  of  yesterday?" 

I  told  him  I  was  all  right,  except  that  my 
shoulder  was  paining  me  a  little  now  and  then. 

"How's  Colquhoun?" 
269 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"He  says  he  is  able  to  come  down  to  busi 
ness,  but  Dr.  Henderson  won't  let  him." 

"That's  right.  He  ought  to  rest  up  now. 
Well,  Oscar,  alias  Old  Never-say-die,  why  aren't 
you  at  school?" 

"Why,  I  declare,  Mr.  Bashford,  I  forgot  all 
about  school." 

He  had.  He  had  been  so  interested  in  talk 
ing  with  me  about  the  fight,  and  telling  me 
what  he  saw  of  it,  that  he  never  thought  at  all 
about  going  to  school.  As  I  couldn't  do  any 
work,  he  and  I  went  down  to  the  hotel  to  find 
out  how  Sanger  was.  He  was  not  as  bad  off 
as  they  expected  he  would  be,  and  the  doctor 
had  said  that  he  would  be  able  to  be  out  in  a 
little  while.  And  while  we  were  in  the  hotel 
office,  Orphena  Green  and  Mrs.  Anderson  came 
in  and  asked  if  there  was  anything  they  could 
do  for  Mr.  Sanger. 

"The  poor,  misguided  man,"  Orphena  said. 
"  I  am  so  sorry  for  him,  even  if  he  has  done 
wrong.  Just  think  of  his  having  to  suffer  here, 
all  alone,  away  off  from  his  friends  and  loved 
ones ! ' ' 

"It  is  our  duty  to  succor  him,"  Mrs.  Ander 
son  said.  She  had  brought  some  jelly  for  him. 
Sanger  sent  back  word  that  he  thanked  them 
and  would  be  glad  to  see  them,  and  Oscar  and 
I  went  up  to  his  room  with  them. 
270 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Hello,  boys,"  he  said  to  us,  after  bidding 
the  ladies  good  -  morning.  "I'm  glad  to  see 
you.  You  surely  are  a  plucky  pair." 

He  didn't  look  so  bad,  laying  there.  His 
face  was  white  and  there  were  lines  of  worry 
in  it;  and  now  that  his  anger  had  gone,  he  did 
not  have  so  much  of  a  bull-dog  look.  His  head 
was  tied  up  in  a  bandage,  owing  to  his  ear 
having  been  shot,  his  arm  was  in  a  sling,  and 
he  could  not  move  very  much.  When  Orphena 
and  Mrs.  Anderson  told  him  why  they  had 
called,  he  seemed  very  glad.  They  offered  to 
do  anything  they  could  for  him,  and  said  if  he 
did  not  mind  they  would  drop  in  once  or  twice 
a  day  to  read  to  him,  or  bring  him  some 
dainties  to  eat.  This  pleased  him  greatly. 

I  told  Mr.  Bashford  about  it  afterwards,  and 
he  didn't  like  it. 

"Did  they  go  to  your  house  to  see  Colqu- 
houn?"  he  asked.  I  told  him  they  didn't. 
He  said  several  things  about  them  that  they 
would  not  like  to  have  me  repeat,  then  he 
chuckled : 

"I  guess  if  Orphena  reads  some  of  her  poe 
try  to  him  he  will  think  that  his  punishment  is 
only  beginning." 

When  I  went  home  for  dinner  Annie  Davis 
was  there.  She  had  brought  some  chicken 
broth  and  preserves  for  the  Emigger,  and  he 
271 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

was  eating  them  with  relish.     Annie  and  ma 
were  sitting  talking  with  him.     He  said: 

"  I  almost  wish  Pink  had  spoiled  my  right 
arm,  too,  so  you'd  have  to  feed  me." 

That  afternoon  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
talk  that  Sanger  ought  to  be  put  under  arrest. 
Nobody  had  made  any  move  of  that  sort  yet, 
and  as  it  was  known  that  the  Emigger  would 
not  swear  out  a  warrant  for  him,  a  lot  of  the 
tougher  element  in  town  began  muttering  that 
Sanger  should  be  taught  a  lesson. 

"What  right  has  he  got  to  come  here  and 
shoot  at  everybody?"  Mart  Bean  asked,  look 
ing  around  at  the  men  who  were  hanging  about 
the  livery  -  stable.  Now,  Mart  Bean  puts  in 
about  half  his  time  in  the  workhouse,  and  it 
sounded  funny  to  hear  him  talking  about  any 
one  breaking  the  laws.  But  with  that  start 
the  talk  grew  worse,  and  by  night  it  was  evident 
that  there  was  something  up. 

At  supper  pa  said  that  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  suppressed  excitement  down-town,  and  that 
he  had  heard  that  a  number  of  men  from  the 
towns  around  here  were  coming  in,  and  that 
a  lot  of  the  riffraff  were  drinking  and  talking 
loud  about  what  they  intended  to  do.  He  said 
Marshal  Smith  should  appoint  deputies  to  be 
ready  for  trouble,  but  maybe,  after  all,  it  would 
end  up  in  talk. 

272 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

I  had  been  asleep  a  good  while  when  I  heard 
some  one  pounding  on  our  front-door,  and  then 
heard  pa  go  and  open  it.  Mr.  Bashford's  voice 
came  from  the  outside. 

"There's  trouble  down- town,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it?"  pa  asked.  Then  I  heard  the 
Emigger  getting  up  and  going  through  the 
hall. 

"A  gang  of  rowdies  from  Kensington  and 
other  places,  and  a  lot  more  of  the  same  kind 
here,  are  gathering  back  of  the  saloons.  I 
think  they  mean  mischief." 

"  What  kind  of  mischief  ?"  the  Emigger  asked. 

"I'm  afraid  they  are  planning  a  lynching- 
bee." 

I  jumped  out  of  bed  then  and  dressed  as  well 
as  I  could  with  one  arm.  I  heard  pa  trying  to 
induce  the  Emigger  to  go  back  to  bed,  but  he 
would  not.  He  said  if  pa  and  Mr.  Bashford 
didn't  help  him  on  with  his  clothes,  he  would 
go  down  street  as  he  was.  By  the  time  he  was 
dressed  I  was  ready.  I  knew  better  than  to 
try  to  go  along  with  him,  so  I  waited,  and  after 
they  were  gone  I  promised  ma  that  I  would 
run  home  at  once  if  there  was  any  trouble,  and 
went  out.  I  trotted  over  to  Ferguson's,  and 
when  I  got  there  pa  and  Mr.  Bashford  and  the 
Emigger  were  coming  away  from  the  house 
with  Mr.  Ferguson.  In  a  minute  Oscar  slipped 
273 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

out.  I  whistled  softly  and  he  joined  me.  As 
we  hurried  down  street  neither  of  us  said  a 
word.  We  could  see  the  flicker  of  torches 
down  near  the  hotel  and  could  hear  men 
shouting  and  swearing. 

There  were  about  fifty  men  in  a  group  in 
front  of  the  hotel.  They  had  on  masks  made 
of  handkerchiefs  with  holes  cut  in  them,  and 
you  couldn't  tell  who  they  were.  One  man 
had  a  clothes-line  over  his  arm,  and  with  him 
stood  three  or  four  who  had  a  long  pole  on 
their  shoulders. 

"Open  the  door!"  some  one  yelled. 

"Open  the  door  or  we  will  break  it  in!" 
another  cried.  Oscar  and  I  got  into  a  yard 
across  the  street  and  hid  behind  some  bushes. 
We  saw  the  Emigger  and  Mr.  Bashford  and 
pa  and  Mr.  Ferguson  and  four  or  five  others 
circling  around  the  crowd  to  get  between  it 
and  the  hotel. 

In  a  minute  Town-Marshal  Smith  appeared 
against  the  door,  on  the  step.  The  light  from 
the  torches  flickered  upon  him.  He  had  his 
badge  pinned  on  the  outside  of  his  coat,  and 
he  looked  very  white. 

"In  the  name  of  the  law,"  he  said,  when 
there  was  a  little  bit  of  silence,  "I  command 
you  to  disperse  at  once." 

"Go  chase  yourself,"  somebody  yelled. 
274 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"To  hell  with  the  law!"  some  one  else  yelled. 
It  was  Mart  Bean's  voice. 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  Smith,"  another  voice 
said.  "  We  want  Sanger,  and  we'll  have 
him." 

"Go  to  your  homes,"  the  Marshal  replied, 
"or  I  will  place  you  all  under  arrest." 

They  all  laughed  hoarsely  at  this  and  yelled 
and  shouted  swear  words  and  taunts  at  the 
Marshal.  Then  the  man  with  the  rope  and  the 
men  with  the  pole  pushed  their  way  straight 
through  the  middle  of  the  crowd  towards  the 
door. 

"Get  away,  Smith!"  they  yelled.  "We 
won't  be  stopped.  You'll  get  hurt!" 

They  threw  the  Marshal  to  one  side,  and 
then  the  men  with  the  pole  set  it  on  their 
shoulders  and  ran  with  it  against  the  door. 
Crash!  It  bounced  back  and  fell  to  the 
ground,  but  the  door  did  not  give. 

" Hit  it  again!  You've  sprung  it!"  some  one 
called. 

The)'-  started  at  the  door  again,  when  another 
man  leaped  up  on  the  step  in  front  of  them. 
It  was  the  Emigger.  His  left  arm  was  in  a 
sling  across  his  breast,  but  his  right  arm  was 
pointed  straight  out  at  them,  and  in  his  hand 
was  his  revolver.  The  crowd  fell  back  a  little. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked. 
275 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"We're  going  to  lynch  the  man  that  shot 
you!" 

"  What  right  have  you  to  take  up  my  fight  ?" 

"Knock  him  off  the  step,  boys!"  some  one 
cried,  and  there  was  a  movement  towards  the 
Emigger,  but  he  swept  his  revolver  around  in 
front  of  him  and  shouted: 

"Come  a  foot  nearer  me  and  I  begin  shoot- 
ing!" 

They  dropped  back  again  and  muttered 
among  themselves.  Finally  some  one  of  them 
said: 

"You  haven't  any  right  to  interfere  in  this." 

"  But  I  have.  We  don't  want  any  of  this 
kind  of  work  here.  I'm  able  to  handle  my 
own  fights,  and  I  say  to  you  that  the  first  man 
who  tries  to  lay  hand  on  Pinkney  Sanger  must 
answer  to  me.  Now,  I'll  give  you  five  minutes 
to  get  away  from  here." 

"Bah!" 

I  could  see  that  the  Emigger  was  wavering 
a  little,  but  he  leaned  against  the  jamb  of  the 
door  and  let  his  revolver  swing  at  his  side. 
He  said  nothing  more,  and  the  crowd  stood  and 
watched  him  oddly  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then 
the  ones  at  the  rear  of  the  crowd  began  slip 
ping  away  quietly.  One  by  one  they  changed 
their  minds  and  stole  off,  until  at  last  the  men 
with  the  pole  dropped  it  from  their  shoulders, 
276 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

and  the  man  with  the  rope  let  it  fall  to  the 
ground,  and  they  were  all  gone.  Then  along 
the  building  beside  the  Emigger  I  saw  Mr. 
Bashford  and  pa  and  Mr.  Ferguson  and  a  few 
other  men.  They  had  been  ready  to  help  him. 

"I  guess  it's  all  over,"  he  said,  and  dropped 
his  revolver  into  his  coat -pocket.  Some  of 
the  men  said  they  would  stay  there  to  guard 
the  hotel,  and  they  were  let  into  the  office  in 
the  dark.  Then  pa  and  Mr.  Bashford  and 
the  Emigger  started  home.  It  was  nearly 
morning  by  this  time.  Oscar  and  I  walked 
up  street  about  half  a  block  behind  them,  and 
we  could  see  that  the  Emigger  was  leaning 
against  pa  and  Mr.  Bashford.  When  they 
reached  our  house  they  almost  had  to  carry 
him  inside.  I  went  in,  and  found  that  they 
had  laid  him  on  the  lounge,  and  he  looked  very 
sick. 

"You  dressed,  Johnny?"  pa  said,  looking 
at  me.  "  Run  right  down  to  Dr.  Henderson's 
and  tell  him  to  come  here  at  once." 

The  doctor  came,  and  stayed  with  the  Emig 
ger  until  daylight.  He  had  a  high  fever  and 
was  out  of  his  head  part  of  the  time.  Dr. 
Henderson  said  it  was  a  fool  trick  to  take  him 
out  at  that  time  of  night  with  his  wound,  and 
that  he  was  in  for  a  spell  of  sickness,  he  was 
afraid. 

277 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Next  morning  there  was  more  excitement 
than  ever,  but  around  our  house  things  were 
very  quiet.  The  Emigger  had  to  be  kept  in 
bed,  and  he  was  so  delirious  that  he  didn't 
know  anybody.  Before  noon  I  was  sick,  too, 
with  a  high  fever,  and  I  had  to  go  to  bed.  I 
made  them  let  me  lie  on  the  lounge,  after 
it  had  been  moved  into  the  room  with  the 
Emigger. 


XXVIII 

BY  noon  of  Tuesday  I  was  getting  better, 
and  was  able  to  eat  something,  although 
ma  wouldn't  let  me  have  any  cake  or  pie,  both 
of  which  I  craved.  Mr.  Bashford  was  at  our 
house  nearly  all  morning,  sitting  beside  the 
Emigger  and  trying  to  talk  to  him,  but  the 
Emigger  was  as  crazy  as  he  could  be.  One 
minute  he  would  be  talking  about  people  and 
things  none  of  us  ever  heard  him  mention,  and 
the  next  he  would  be  going  over  again  incidents 
that  had  happened  since  he  came  here.  Dur 
ing  the  morning  Squire  Davis  came  in  to  ask 
about  him,  and  later  on  Judge  Lambert  came 
and  sat  in  the  parlor  and  talked  with  ma  and 
Flora  Beavers.  Ma  said  afterwards  that  while 
Judge  Lambert  might  be  an  infidel  and  a  very 
wicked  man  for  that  reason,  she  was  bound  to 
say  that  he  was  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  men 
she  ever  knew,  and  certainly  must  have  some 
good  in  him  or  he  wouldn't  be  such  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Colquhoun's.  Dr.  Henderson  called  just 
279 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

after  noon,  and  felt  the  Emigger's  pulse  and 
shook  his  head  quietly. 

"Medicine  won't  do  him  much  good,"  he 
said. 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  it's  that  bad?"  Mr. 
Bashford  whispered,  and  from  where  I  was  I 
could  see  that  he  almost  had  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  so  doubtful  as  all  that,"  Dr. 
Henderson  answered.  "  But  it  is  evident  that 
this  man  is  not  only  wounded  and  ill,  but  lone 
some." 

"  Everybody  in  town  is  his  friend,"  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  answrered,  taking  up  the  Emigger's  hand  as 
if  he  thought  the  Emigger  knew  he  was  doing  it. 
"Everybody." 

"Yes,  but  a  man  may  be  lonesome  for  all 
that.  I  fancy  that  something  has  been  weigh 
ing  upon  his  heart — possibly  he  has  been  home 
sick.  Grown  men  are  homesick  oftener  than 
they  will  acknowledge." 

"If  that  is  the  trouble,"  Mr.  Bashford  said, 
"\ve'll  have  the  right  medicine  for  him  by 
night." 

Dr.  Henderson  came  over  to  me  and  said  I 
was  doing  all  right,  but  mustn't  go  out  of  the 
house  any  more  until  he  gave  me  leave.  Mr. 
Bashford  kept  his  position  at  the  side  of  the 
Emigger's  bed,  and  every  once  in  a  while  he 
smiled  quietly  to  himself. 

280 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?"  Annie  Davis 
asked,  coming  in. 

"I  believe  nothing  at  present,"  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  answered.  "He  seems  to  have  fallen 
into  a  doze." 

Annie  came  across  the  room  and  sat  down 
by  my  lounge.  She  put  her  hand  on  my  fore 
head  and  asked  how  I  was  feeling.  I  told  her 
I  was  all  right. 

"  I  surely  hope  you  are — that  both  of  you 
are,  Johnny,"  she  said.  "I  pray  for  both  of 
you  many  times  a  day." 

I  was  astonished  to  see  that  she  was  crying. 
Why  she  should  have  cried  was  more  than  I 
could  imagine.  But  one  or  two  tears  splashed 
down  on  my  hand,  and  then  she  put  her  face 
in  her  handkerchief  and  sobbed. 

"Why,  what  can  be  the  matter,  Annie?" 
Mr.  Bashford  asked,  coming  to  her. 

"I  am  so  miserable,"  she  told  him.  "When 
I  think  that  it  is  all  on  my  account  that  this 
terrible  thing  has  happened,  I  feel  like  a 
criminal." 

"But  it  isn't  on  your  account,  girl.  It  isn't 
your  fault." 

"  It  is.  I  was  a  foolish  girl  last  spring,  wasn't 
I  ?  And  if  Mr.  Colquhoun  had  not  so  bravely 
resented  that  man  Branthorpe's  actions  tow 
ards  me  all  this  would  have  been  avoided." 

*9  28l 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Now,  now — don't  feel  that  way.  It  would 
all  have  happened  anyway,  Annie." 

But  she  would  not  be  satisfied  with  that,  and 
kept  on  crying,  and  got  up  and  walked  out  into 
the  parlor,  where  ma  and  Flora  sat. 

"Girl,  girl!"  I  heard  ma  say.  "What  in  the 
world—?" 

Annie  told  ma,  between  sobs,  the  same  that 
she  had  said  to  Mr.  Bashford.  Ma  soothed 
her  and  petted  her,  and  Flora  Beavers  talked 
with  her,  and  between  them  they  finally  got 
her  quieted. 

"  But  I  will  stay  here  and  nurse  them  both, 
if  you  will  let  me,  Mrs.  Thomspon,"  Annie  said. 

"  Now,  we  can  get  along,  Annie.  You  will 
just  wear  yourself  out." 

"  If  I  do  it  will  not  be  any  more  than  I  de 
serve.  It  is  the  least  I  can  do  to  repay  Mr. 
Colquhoun  —  and  Johnny,  too  —  for  what  they 
have  done  for  me." 

She  said  she  had  told  her  father  and  mother 
what  she  intended  doing,  and  that  they  agreed 
with  her  that  it  was  right  she  should  do  it,  if 
ma  would  permit  her.  So  ma  said,  of  course, 
if  that  was  the  case,  Annie  was  welcome  to  give 
whatever  help  she  chose.  Of  late  ma  had  be 
gun  to  think  a  good  deal  more  of  Annie  than 
ever.  I  had  heard  her  talking  with  pa  about 
Annie,  and  saying  that  her  experiences  seemed 
282 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

to  have  brought  out  all  the  good  that  was  in 
her.  "And  goodness  knows,"  ma  had  said, 
"  there  never  was  any  bad  in  Annie.  Just  a 
little  foolishness,  that  came  from  never  having 
been  told  what  sort  of  a  world  this  was." 

Mr.  Bashford  left  before  long,  and  Miss 
Beavers  went  with  him.  Ma  went  to  the 
porch  with  them,  and  they  talked  for  a  while 
there.  When  ma  came  back  she  was  smiling 
and  happy,  and  humming  a  song.  She  told 
Annie  to  make  herself  easy,  and  to  give  us  a 
drink  of  water  when  we  wanted  it,  and  that 
she  would  finish  some  work  she  had  started  in 
the  kitchen. 

Annie  came  in  and  sat  beside  the  Emigger 
and  looked  steadily  at  him.  Once  in  a  while 
she  would  shake  her  head  slowly  and  sadly, 
as  if  she  were  blaming  herself  with  something. 
The  Emigger  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at 
her,  but  he  didn't  know  her. 

"Can  I  get  you  a  drink,  Mr.  Colquhoun?" 
she  asked. 

"I'll  find  her,"  he  said,  thickly.  "I'll  find 
her,  Mrs.  Davis,  and  get  her  to  come  back  to 
you." 

Annie  pushed  back  his  hair  from  his  fore 
head  and  looked  at  him  again,  and  asked : 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Mr.  Colquhoun?     I'm 
Annie.     I've  come  home,  you  know." 
283 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"She'll  come  back,  I  know,  Dr.  Milton,  if 
she  sees  her  mofcher.  There  are  those  two 
boys  following  us." 

He  laughed  feebly  and  turned  on  his  wound 
ed  arm,  then  groaned.  Annie  brought  a  glass 
of  water  and  lifted  him  up  and  gave  him  a 
drink.  When  he  laid  back  on  the  pillow  he  said : 

"Thank  you.  There  isn't  a  finer  spring  in 
the  mountains  than  this." 

Then  he  became  rambling  in  his  speech 
again,  and  talked  of  the  Sangers  and  of  fight 
ing  and  of  horses  and  of  a  lot  of  people  that 
he  called  by  their  first  names.  Then  all  at 
once  he  began  talking  about  Branthorpe.  All 
this  time  Annie  was  speaking  to  him  softly, 
and  telling  him  everything  was  all  right,  that 
he  mustn't  worry,  but  should  go  to  sleep. 
But  the  Emigger  thought  he  was  talking  with 
Mr.  Bashford  again,  and  kept  saying  he  wished 
he  didn't  have  to  do  it,  but  now  that  he  was 
in  for  it  he  would  go  and  meet  Branthorpe. 
He  went  through  the  pantomime  of  loading  his 
revolver,  and  once  or  twice  cracked  a  joke  at 
me.  Then  he  began  laughing  in  that  crazy 
way  again,  and  talking  about  how  Branthorpe 
had  run. 

After  that  he  lay  silent  for  a  good  while,  and 
appeared   to   be   dozing   some   more.     Pretty 
soon,  though,  he  muttered: 
284 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I  must  go  away." 

"No,  you  must  stay  right  where  you  are. 
Everything  is  all  right,"  Annie  murmured, 
stroking  his  forehead  with  her  hand. 

"I'm  not  fit,"  he  said.  "Not  fit.  It's  no 
wonder  she  can't  respect  me  even.  I'm  not 
fit." 

"There,  there,  now.  It's  all  right,"  Annie 
whispered. 

"I'll  tell  her,  though.  I  never  ran  away 
yet — away  yet.  I'll  tell  her.  Annie,  won't  you 
listen?" 

"I  am  listening,"  she  said  to  him,  but  he 
was  paying  no  attention  to  her. 

"But  just  a  minute,"  he  went  on.  "Just 
a  minute  —  a  minute.  I'm  going  away.  I 
know  I  haven't  made  a  good  reputation  here, 
but  I— but  I—" 

"Don't  think  about  it  any  more  now;  just 
go  to  sleep,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  before  I  go.  You 
might  as  well  know  it.  It  '11  help  me — help  me. 
It  '11  help  me  afterwards  to  know  you  knew  it. 
I  love  you,  and  I  know  I  shouldn't  say  so — 
shouldn't  say  so.  But  I — but  I—  Look  out, 
Pink!  I'll—" 

He  had  raised  up  a  trifle,  and  then  fell  back 
gasping  with  these  words.  Annie  had  slipped 
her  arm  under  his  back  and  she  let  him  gently 
285 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

back  to  his  pillow.  Her  eyes  were  glowing 
and  her  cheeks  were  red  as  roses.  She  looked 
a  thousand  times  happier  than  when  she  came 
in.  And  as  she  laid  his  head  down,  she  bent 
over  him  and  seemed  to  be  whispering  some 
thing  to  him,  but  her  back  was  to  me  and  I 
couldn't  tell  whether  she  was  or  not. 

The  Emigger  slept  on  and  on,  for  an  hour  or 
two,  and  Annie  sat  beside  him,  from  time  to 
time  turning  to  ask  if  I  wanted  a  drink  or  if 
she  could  do  anything  for  me.  Once  in  a  while 
ma  would  come  to  the  door  of  the  room  and 
whisper  to  ask  if  we  were  getting  along  all 
right,  and  each  time  Annie  nodded  that  we 
were,  and  ma  tiptoed  away  again. 

It  was  getting  towards  the  end  of  the  after 
noon  when  I  heard  some  people  come  through 
our  gate  and  up  the  walk.  Ma  met  them  at 
the  door,  and  I  heard  her  saying,  "How  do 
you  do,"  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  a  stranger. 
Then  she  came  towards  our  room  with  some 
one,  and  said: 

"Here  he  is,  in  here." 

The  nicest  white-haired  old  lady  I  ever  saw 
in  my  life  came  in  and  hurried  to  the  Emigger's 
bed.  Annie  rose  up  and  was  about  to  say 
something,  but  the  lady  dropped  on  her  knees 
and  kissed  the  Emigger,  and  cried: 

' '  Dabney !  Dabney !  Don '  t  you  know  me  ? ' ' 
286 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

The  Emigger  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at 
her  for  a  moment  in  that  blank  way,  then 
quickly  his  eyes  cleared,  and  he  threw  his  right 
arm  around  her  neck  and  exclaimed: 

"Mother!" 

Ma  was  standing  back  of  them,  rubbing  her 
hands  together  and  looking  pleased;  Annie 
was  beside  ma,  looking  bewildered;  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  was  in  the  doorway  with  Flora  Beavers, 
and  his  face  was  shining,  he  was  so  glad.  And 
Miss  Beavers  was  delighted  as  the  rest  of  them 
all  put  together. 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ?"  the  Emigger  asked 
his  mother. 

"I  had  a  telegram  to  come,  Sunday,  from 
Mr.  Bashford." 

"Good  old  Eli!  I  wouldn't  have  let  him 
alarm  you  if  I  had  known  he  intended  doing 
that." 

"I  knew  it.  That's  why  I  didn't  tell  you," 
Mr.  Bashford  said. 

"And  this  is  Annie  Davis,  I  am  sure,"  Mrs. 
Colquhoun  said,  walking  over  to  Annie  and 
taking  both  her  hands.  "  I  have  heard  so 
much  of  you  in  Dabney's  letters.  And  you 
are  just  the  sort  of  a  dear,  sweet  girl  I  had 
pictured  you." 

The  Emigger  looked  queer  when  his  mother 
said   that,   and  seemed  about  to  make  some 
287 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

kind  of  an  explanation,  when  Mrs.  Colquhoun 
said  : 

"And  where  is  the  wonderful  Johnny?" 

"  Right  over  there,  mother,"  the  Emigger  told 
her. 

She  came  over  to  me  and  bent  and  kissed 
me. 

"Mr.  Bashford  told  me  all  about  what  a 
brave  boy  you  were,  on  the  way  up  from  the 
station.  I  have  to  thank  you  fcr  saving 
Dabney's  life,  my  boy." 

"He  saved  me  once,  so  we're  even,  then," 
I  replied. 

Dr.  Henderson  arrived  then,  and  was  great 
ly  surprised  at  the  improvement  in  the  Emig- 
ger's  condition,  but  when  he  met  Mrs.  Colqu 
houn  he  said  he  did  not  wonder  at  it. 

"You  are  just  what  he  needed,  madam," 
the  doctor  said.  "You  will  do  him  more  good 
than  any  of  my  medicine." 

They  talked  for  a  while,  and  finally  the 
doctor  said  they  would  get  us  excited  if  they 
kept  on,  and  that  would  be  bad  for  us.  Annie 
Davis  said  she  would  better  be  going  home,  as 
she  thought  she  could  do  nothing  more  for  us 
that  day. 

"I  thank  you  for  calling,  Miss  Davis,"  the 
Emigger    said    to    her.     "  I    must    have    been 
asleep  when  you  came  in." 
288 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"You  were,"  she  answered,  looking  at  him 
with  an  odd  expression. 

When  she  and  Mr.  Bashford  and  Miss  Bea 
vers  had  gone,  ma  and  Mrs.  Colquhoun  sat  down 
and  got  acquainted.  Mrs.  Colquhoun  had  a 
soft,  slow  voice  that  sounded  as  if  she  never 
got  excited  or  let  anything  worry  her,  and  she 
and  ma  were  good  friends  at  once.  Mrs. 
Colquhoun  had  me  tell  her  all  about  the  shoot 
ing  on  Sabbath  morning  and  the  attempted 
lynching  of  Sanger.  She  listened  to  me  quiet 
ly,  once  in  a  while  making  the  Emigger  keep 
still  and  not  interrupt  when  I  was  telling  how 
brave  he  was,  and  when  I  had  finished  she 
said  : 

"And  where  is  Pinkney  Sanger?" 

I  told  her,  and  she  said  she  was  sorry  for 
him,  and  that  she  would  go  and  see  him  the 
next  day. 

"There  isn't  as  much  bad  in  Pinkney  as 
there  was  in  the  others  of  the  Sangers,"  she 
said.  "  I  don't  blame  any  one  now.  The 
blame  for  this  rests  on  their  fathers  and  grand 
fathers." 

"And  that  mule,"  I  suggested,  and  she 
laughed  and  said  that  the  mule  must  take  its 
share  of  the  blame,  too. 

Orphena  Green  and  Mrs.  Anderson  called 
that  evening.  They  had  been  at  the  house 
289 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

in  the  morning  to  ask  about  us,  too,  but  Mr. 
Bashford  had  told  ma  that  Orphena  was  try 
ing  to  make  a  heroine  of  herself  by  feeding 
Sanger  jelly  with  one  hand  and  writing  poetry 
about  him  with  the  other.  Still,  it  was  all 
right  for  her  to  take  an  interest  in  him,  Mr. 
Bashford  said,  for  it  would  be  inhuman  to 
allow  him  to  lie  there  alone. 

Ike  Peters  and  Lafe  Skidmore  tiptoed  in  to 
see  us  after  supper,  and  they  told  us  that 
Orphena  and  Mrs.  Anderson  were  more  en 
thusiastic  over  taking  care  of  Sanger  than 
they  had  been  over  the  barefoot  cure,  and 
that  Flora  Banford  had  succeeded  in  recovering 
from  an  attack  of  nervous  prostration  long 
enough  to  make  one  visit  to  the  hotel  with 
them. 


XXIX 

WEDNESDAY  morning  Mrs.  Colquhoun  set 
out  for  the  hotel  to  see  Pinkney  Sanger 
and  talk  with  him.  Annie  Davis  came  to  our 
house  soon  after  she  had  left.  She  talked  with 
ma  a  good  while  in  the  parlor.  I  heard  ma 
say: 

"Yes,  we'll  be  dreadful  sorry  when  Mr. 
Colquhoun  goes  away." 

"Is  he  going  away  soon?"  Annie  asked. 

"  As  soon  as  he  is  well.  Mr.  Bashford  talked 
with  him  yesterday  evening  a  good  while,  and 
tried  to  get  him  to  stay  here,  but  he  seems  to 
have  his  mind  made  up,  and  he  has  asked  Mr. 
Bashford  to  buy  his  half  of  the  paper." 

"He  isn't  going  away  to  stay?" 

"My,  yes.  He  told  his  mother  he  would 
go  back  home  with  her  as  soon  as  he  was  well 
enough  to  travel.  Mr.  Bashford  just  feels 
downright  bad  about  it." 

"I  should  think  he  would,"  Annie  replied. 
Ma  went  on  to  tell  how  she  and  pa  and  Mr. 
Bashford  had  argued  with  the  Emigger  after 
291 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

his  mother  had  gone  to  bed,  and  how  they  had 
urged  him  to  stay  here,  but  he  positively 
wouldn't. 

"He  appears  to  think  that  he  made  a  bad 
reputation  while  he  was  here,"  ma  said,  "and 
that  nobody  will  have  much  regard  for  him 
after  this." 

"But  he  is  greatly  mistaken,"  Annie  said. 

"I  wish  you  could  get  him  to  believe  it." 

"And  his  mother — does  she  want  him  to  go 
home?" 

"Well,  of  course  she  is  his  mother,  and  she 
naturally  would  be  happier  if  he  was  with  her, 
or  even  if  she  knew  he  was  settled  down  for 
good  somewhere." 

"How  is  he  this  morning?" 

"Bright  as  a  dollar.  Go  in,  if  you  like. 
Johnny  is  taking  a  nap,  but  I  think  Mr.  Colqu- 
houn  is  awake." 

I  shut  my  eyes  and  didn't  say  anything 
when  Annie  came  in.  But  she  didn't  stop  at 
my  lounge.  She  went  on  over  to  the  Emig- 
ger's  bed  and  spoke  to  him.  He  had  been  look 
ing  out  of  the  window  ever  since  breakfast, 
and  apparently  thinking  deeply,  for  he  hadn't 
said  much  of  anything  to  me  or  anybody  else. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Davis,"  he  said  to  her. 

"Good-morning.  How  do  you  find  yourself 
this  morning?" 

292 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Much  better,  thank  you.  That's  right,  sit 
down." 

I  opened  my  eyes  about  half-way  and  looked 
across  the  room  at  them.  I  suppose  for  a 
second  time  I  am  liable  to  be  criticised  for  this. 
But  I  couldn't  help  being  there,  and  they  knew 
I  was  there,  and  if  they  didn't  want  me  to  see 
them  or  to  hear  what  they  said,  they  could 
have  mentioned  it.  The  truth  is,  I  don't  be 
lieve  that  either  of  them  remembered  that  I 
was  within  a  hundred  miles  of  them. 

"You  are  a  tonic  yourself,"  the  Emigger 
said  to  her.  "A  sight  of  you  is  bound  to  be 
of  benefit  to  any  man,  sick  or  well." 

I  could  see  that  Annie  was  looking  her 
prettiest  that  morning.  She  wore  a  white 
shirt-waist  that  had  a  lot  of  fluffy  stuff  and 
lace  on  it,  and  her  hair  was  done  up  in  her 
most  becoming  way.  I  saw  her  ear  that  was 
peeping  from  below  a  wave  of  her  hair  grow 
red. 

"You  are  flattering,  Mr.  Colquhoun,"  she 
laughed.  "  But  I  suppose  it  is  the  privilege 
of  an  invalid  to  say  pretty  things  to  his 
nurse." 

"Yes.     Are  you  going  to  be  my  nurse?" 

"Why,  am  I  not?     I  was  yesterday,  surely." 

"  Were  you  here  yesterday,  before  my  mother 
came?" 

293 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Yes.  Didn't  you  know  it?"  Her  voice 
had  a  disappointed  tone  in  it. 

"Well,  maybe  I  did,  but  you  see,  I  expect 
I  was  rather  peculiar  yesterday.  The  most  I 
remember  was  having  a  lot  of  nightmares,  and 
then  waking  to  see  my  mother." 

"You  were  a  little  bit  delirious  at  times." 
"Then  I  trust  I  did  not  alarm  you,  or  weary 
you.     You  should  not  have  put  yourself   to 
such  a  strain." 

"Oh,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  do  it." 
"Then  I  feel  like  getting  delirious  again." 
"But  you  are  much  better  company  when 
you  are  not  that  way." 

"All  right.  I'll  be  rational." 
Annie  asked  him  if  she  couldn't  get  him  a 
drink,  and  he  said  that  he  was  very  thirsty, 
although  I  knew  that  he  had  had  a  whole  glass 
of  water  a  minute  before  she  came.  Then  she 
asked  if  the  window-shade  was  just  right,  and 
he  got  her  to  lower  it  a  little.  She  pulled  it 
down  a  few  inches  and  he  said  that  was  just 
right.  Not  long  before  she  came  he  had  com 
plained  about  it  being  that  low,  and  said  he 
wanted  it  up  as  far  as  it  would  go.  She 
smoothed  his  pillow  for  him,  and  he  said  that 
made  it  much  better.  Ma  had  smoothed  that 
pillow  out  for  him  not  such  a  great  while  be 
fore,  and  at  the  time  he  had  objected,  telling 
294 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

her  he  would  rather  have  it  rumpled.  Annie 
kept  bustling  around  quietly,  doing  things  for 
him,  and  I  think  he  drank  fully  four  glasses 
of  water  within  half  an  hour.  Then  she  sat 
down  again  and  said: 

"I  would  read  to  you,  if  you  wished,  but 
maybe  it  would  waken  Johnny." 

"All  right;  just  talk  to  me,  then." 

I  wondered  how  he  could  figure  it  out  that 
her  talking  to  him  would  make  less  noise  than 
if  she  read  to  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  going  away, ' ' 
she  said,  seriously,  after  sitting  silent  for  a  few 
minutes. 

"Who  told  you?"  he  asked. 

"  Mrs .  Thompson . ' ' 

"Yes,  I  think  it  will  be  best  if  I  leave  here," 
he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"But  why?  You  have  made  so  many 
friends,  I  should  think  you  would  regret  going 
away. ' ' 

"  I  know.  I  have  made  some  wonderfully 
good  friends.  But  there  are  reasons  why  it 
will  be  better  for  me  to  go." 

"We  shall  all  be  sorry." 

"Yes,  for  a  while.  But  in  a  few  weeks  you 
will  have  managed  to  forget  me,  save  as  a 
wild,  reckless  fellow  who  always  contrived  to 
find  trouble  for  himself  and  others." 

295 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"You  mustn't  talk  that  way.  I  shall  begin 
to  think  you  are  delirious  again." 

Then  neither  of  them  said  anything  for  a 
long,  long  time.  I  opened  my  eyes  cautiously 
and  peeped  over  at  them.  Annie  was  sitting 
there,  looking  straight  ahead  of  herself,  but 
the  Emigger  was  looking  at  her  face.  I  began 
to  wonder  if  they  would  stay  that  way  all 
morning,  when  Annie  asked: 

"Do  you  think  people  mean  what  they  say 
when  they  are  delirious?" 

"It  depends  on  what  they  say." 

"Mr.  Colquhoun,  I  for  one  shall  be  deeply 
sorry  if  you  go  away.  I  feel  that  I  owe  so 
much  to  you.  You  have  put  me  everlastingly 
in  your  debt." 

"Oh  no.     I  haven't  done  so  very  much— 

"But,  Mr.  Colquhoun—" 

"You  called  me  by  my  first  name  Sunday 
morning  in  the  church -yard." 

"  I  know — maybe  I  did.  But  I  was  excited, 
and  frightened,  and — 

"Possibly  you  were  delirious,"  he  said,  and 
I  knew  he  was  smiling  at  her. 

"  I — I—  Do  people  mean  what  they  say 
when  they  are  delirious?" 

"I  have  hoped  you  meant  to  call  me  'Dab- 
ney.'     That  would  make  it  easier  for  me  to 
say  good-bye  to  you." 
296 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"Why  do  you  insist  on  saying  good-bye?" 

"  I  have  explained  all  that.     You  know  why. ' ' 

"No,  I  don't." 

She  did,  though.  I  knew  she  did.  She 
knew  she  did.  And  the  Emigger  knew  she  did. 
I  would  have  moved  or  said  something  then 
to  let  them  know  I  was  awake,  but  I  felt  as  if 
that  wouldn't  be  giving  the  Emigger  a  fair 
show. 

"I  can  tell  you  why,"  he  said  to  her,  softly. 
"  Let  us  suppose  a  case.  Suppose  a  man  comes 
to  a  strange  town,  and  there  he  falls  in  love 
with  a  girl  who  is  so  beautiful  and  so  good 
that  he  knows  he  has  no  right  ever  to  hope 
that  she  will  care  for  him.  Suppose  certain 
events  happen  that  show  him  for  what  he  is. 
Suppose  his  actions  betray  how  his  rash,  quick 
temper  has  always  gotten  him  into  trouble. 
Suppose  he  realizes  that  he  has  shown  himself 
to  be  a  brawler  and  a  bully — but  suppose  at 
the  same  time  that  he  loves  that  girl  more 
and  more  each  time  he  sees  her.  And  suppose 
that  he  sits  down  and  reasons  it  all  out  with 
himself.  If  he  is  a  square  man,  and  an  honest 
man  with  himself,  wouldn't  he  say  to  himself 
that  he  should  go  away?" 

"And  that  would  be  honest  with  himself, 
would  it?" 

"Yes." 

ao  297 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"But  would  it  be  honest  with  her?" 
"Why,  that  is  the  most  honest  part  of  it." 
"But  suppose,"  she  said — and  I  looked  and 
saw   that   she  was   twisting  her   handkerchief 
between  her  fingers  — "  suppose   I  was —     Oh, 
it  is  forward  and  utterly  wrong  for  me  to  say 
it!     But  suppose  I  was  the  girl,  and — and — 
"And  I  was  the  man?" 
"Yes." 
"Then  all   the  more  reason  why   I   should 

go- 

"Oh,  Dabney!  Dabney!  Why  don't  you 
tell  me  to-day?  You  did  yesterday!" 

"God  bless  you,"  I  heard  him  say,  and  then 
I  saw  her  head  was  down  on  his  shoulder  and 
that  he  was  whispering  to  her.  I  shut  my  eyes, 
for  my  conscience  told  me  I  should  not  look 
any  more.  If  they  saw  me  looking  it  would 
make  me  feel  uncomfortable. 

Another  long  time  passed,  and  I  heard  Annie 
say,  in  a  half -whisper  that  was  as  glad  as  any 
thing  you  ever  heard: 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  make  me  propose 
to  you,  you  dear,  foolish  man." 

"I'm  glad  I  lost  my  head  yesterday,"  he 
answered.  "I  lost  my  heart  so  long  ago  that 
I  needed  to  lose  my  head  to  balance  me." 

It  was  hard  work  for  me  to  keep  on  breath 
ing  regular  and  seeming  to  be  asleep,  so  I 
298 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

tossed  once  or  twice  and  opened  my  eyes  and 
yawned. 

"Can  I  get  you  a  drink,  Johnny?"  Annie 
asked,  coming  towards  me  and  straightening 
her  hair. 

"Had  a  good  nap,  old  man?"  the  Emigger 
asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  you  mean  you  want  a  drink,  or  you  had 
a  good  nap?" 

Annie  laughed. 

Before  I  could  answer  Mrs.  Colquhoun  came 
in,  and  Annie  forgot  about  the  drink  for  me. 
She  seemed  to  want  to  be  with  Mrs.  Colquhoun 
all  the  time.  The  Emigger  listened  while  his 
mother  told  about  seeing  Sanger,  and  of  hav 
ing  made  up  all  the  old  family  feud  with  him. 

"And  I  stopped  and  saw  that  nice  man, 
Squire  Miller,  on  my  way  home,"  she  said. 
"Now,  listen  to  me,  calling  this  house  home! 
But  it  seems  as  if  it  were  a  home  for  me,  you 
are  all  so  good  to  my  boy." 

"  It's  your  home  as  long  as  you  want  to  stay, 
Mrs.  Colquhoun,"  ma  said.  "That's  just  the 
way  I  like  people  to  feel  in  our  house." 

"I  thank  you.     Anybody  could  feel  at  home 

with   you.     But   I    was   saying   I   saw   Squire 

Miller.     He  was   playing  a   tune  in   the  most 

peculiar  manner  on  a  leaf.     And  I  don't  know 

299 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

whether  I  did  right  or  not,  but  I  asked  him  not 
to  send  Pinkney  to  jail." 

"Compounding  a  felony,  mother!"  the  Emig- 
ger  chuckled. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  was,  but  I  made  the 
Squire  promise  that  the  worst  he  would  do 
would  be  to  fine  Pinkney  for  shooting  a  revolver, 
although  he  said  something  about  suspending 
a  sentence  and  letting  Pinkney  go  on  peace 
bonds,  or  some  such  legal  arrangement.  I 
never  could  understand  these  law  terms." 

"He'll  fine  Pinkney  for  shooting,  and  he'll 
let  him  plead  guilty  to  shooting  with  intent  to 
harm,  but  he'll  let  him  go  on  suspended  sen 
tence,"  the  Emigger  explained.  "I  knew 
about  it.  Bashford  said  it  would  be  arranged. 
I  couldn't  prosecute  him,  you  know." 

Mr.  Bashford  dropped  in  before  very  long, 
and  asked  how  we  were  getting  along. 

"Fine,  Eli.  And  say,"  the  Emigger  said, 
"you  haven't  decided  to  make  that  deal  with 
me  for  my  interest  in  the  Chronicle,  have  you  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to,  but  I  will,  of  course,  if  I 
have  to." 

"  Well,  forget  about  it.     You  don't  have  to." 

Mr.  Bashford  looked  at  him,  then  at  Annie, 
who  was  blushing  and  trying  to  stand  in  the 
shadow.  Then  Mr.  Bashford  raised  his  hands 
and  said: 

300 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  Bless  you,  my  children.  Got  your  verdict, 
did  you,  Dabney?" 

The  Emigger  whispered  something  to  his 
mother,  and  she  turned  to  Annie  and  put  her 
arms  around  her  and  kissed  her,  and  called  her 
"daughter."  And  then  she  cried,  and  Annie 
cried,  and  ma  wiped  her  eyes  and  said  if  any 
body  ought  to  be  happy  they  were  the  ones. 

"And  it  '11  be  a  double  wedding,"  Mr.  Bash- 
ford  said. 

"You  and  Flora?"  ma  asked. 

"Yes.  Flora  has  consented  to  take  my 
name  for  a  life  subscription  to  Home  and 
Hearth,"  Mr.  Bashford  answered. 

"Then  she's  getting  the  best  premium  she 
ever  got.  All  of  you  stay  for  supper.  I  won't 
take  no  for  an  answer.  As  soon  as  pa  comes 
home  we'll  have  a  good  chicken  supper  to 
celebrate  this.  Mr.  Bashford,  you  go  and  get 
Flora,  and  Annie,  you  ask  your  folks  to  come, 
too." 


XXX 

A  PRETTY  girl  to  nurse  him  is  the  med 
icine  that  will  make  a  man  get  well 
quicker  than  anything  else  on  earth,"  Dr. 
Henderson  said,  when  the  Emigger  was  up  and 
around. 

"Then  why  don't  you  prescribe  pretty  girls 
instead  of  sections  of  the  Latin  lexicons?"  Mr. 
Bashford  asked. 

"Because  pretty  girls  are  never  a  drug  on 
the  market,"  the  Emigger  explained. 

Mrs.  Colquhoun  was  well  satisfied  that  the 
Emigger  should  stay  in  Plainville  and  continue 
to  edit  the  paper  with  Mr.  Bashford.  She  was 
more  satisfied  than  ever  when  the  Emigger 
and  Pinkney  Sanger  had  had  a  long  talk,  and 
had  buried  the  hatchet  for  good  and  all. 
Sanger  soon  got  well  enough  to  sit  out  in  front 
of  the  hotel  in  the  sun,  and  the  Emigger  would 
sit  with  him  an  hour  or  so  each  day  and  talk 
about  old  times.  Orphena  Green  stopped 
making  her  sisterly  visits  to  Sanger  after  he 
was  able  to  be  up.  He  managed  to  use  a 
302 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

crutch  and  walk  down  to  her  house  occasion 
ally,  though. 

"When  a  woman  gets  a  man  started  on  the 
jelly  and  poetry  route  it's  all  up  with  him," 
Mr.  Bashford  said.  But  Orphena's  poems 
were  not  the  gloomy  ones  they  used  to  be. 
She  handed  one  or  two  to  Mr.  Bashford  every 
week,  and  in  one  of  them  Oscar  discovered  a 
cipher.  If  you  read  the  first  letters  of  each 
line,  reading  straight  down,  they  spelled 
"Joseph  Pinkney  Sanger."  Her  poetry  used 
to  run  to  withered  roses,  and  broken  harps, 
and  dead  hopes,  but  now  it  was  about  the 
beautiful  moonlight  on  the  sea  which  ever  and 
ever  sings  of  thee,  and  the  songs  of  the  morn 
ing  stars,  and  love,  and  affairs  of  that  kind. 

Orphena  gave  a  dinner  at  six  o'clock  one 
evening  in  honor,  as  the  item  she  wrote  for 
the  Chronicle  stated,  "of  Mr.  Joseph  Pinkney 
Sanger,  of  Red  Gap,  Virginia,  who  is  spending 
a  few  weeks  in  our  midst."  She  had  Annie 
Davis  and  Flora  Beavers  and  the  Emigger  and 
Mr.  Bashford  and  a  few  others,  and  when  she 
invited  them,  she  explained  that  six  o'clock 
was  now  considered  the  most  formal  hour  at 
which  to  have  dinners. 

"  I  have  to  have  my  dinner  at  noon,  just  the 
same,"  Mr.  Bashford  said.  "I  ate  as  usual  at 
noon  to-day."  This  was  the  day  of  Orphena's 
303 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

six-o'clock  dinner.  "I  have  a  great  and  un 
dying  ambition  to  go  into  society,  and  to  do 
as  the  four  hundred  do,  but  my  stomach  has 
no  social  aspirations,  and  my  appetite  insists 
on  the  union  schedule." 

I  heard  afterwards  that  the  dinner  was  quite 
a  fine  affair,  and  that  Mr.  Bashford  made  a 
speech,  in  which  he  lifted  up  a  glass  of  grape- 
juice  that  Orphena  had  canned  that  fall,  and 
proposed  a  toast  which  the  Emigger  said  went 
like  this: 

"My  friends,  on  this  joyous  and  auspicious 
occasion,  I  rise  to  propose  the  health  and  hap 
piness  of  one  of  the  unhonored  and  unsung 
features  of  every  true  American  landscape. 
Men  have  written  of  love,  women  have  sung 
of  it,  and  each  and  all  of  them  have  attributed 
its  insidious  workings  to  the  influence  of  a 
pagan  god,  or  godlet,  called  Cupid.  For  once, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  legend  is  disproved  and 
myths  are  wiped  away  by  the  gleaming  hand 
of  truth.  I  ask  you  to  join  with  me  in  a  liba 
tion  to  the  mule!  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
fact  that  Colonel  Sanger's  grandfather's  mule 
kicked  Colonel  Colquhoun's  grandfather  —  or 
possibly  it  was  the  other  way  around ;  you  never 
can  tell  about  mules — anyhow,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  prescient  kick  of  this  mule,  this  low 
ly,  meek,  unconsidered,  long-eared  and  large- 
3°4 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

hearted  emblem  of  industry  and  enterprise — 
had  it  not  been  for  the  good-luck  sign  the  shoe 
of  that  mule  planted  upon  the  person  of  the 
ancestor  of  one  of  the  noble  gentlemen  now 
favoring  us  with  their  presence,  neither  of  them 
would  be  here  to-day.  There  would  have  been 
no  feud,  there  would  have  been  no  Emigger  in 
Plainville,  there  would  have  been  no  Pink 
Sanger  coming  here  yearning  first  for  revenge, 
and  then  for  the  gentle  touch  of  a  woman's 
hand;  romance  would  have  languished  at  the 
shrine  of  the  affections  in  at  least  one  instance 
— and  I  think  I  am  safe  in  saying  in  still  an 
other  instance,  or  two  other  instances,  for  had 
it  not  been  for  the  joyous  fellowship  I  have 
with  Colonel  Dab  Colquhoun,  I  should  not 
have  renewed  my  youth  as  the  eagle  and  flown 
into  the  flowery  field  of  one  woman's  smiles. 
To  the  mule,  the  chivalrous  mule  of  Ol'  Vah- 
ginny!" 

Mr.  Bashford  says  this  is  not  exactly  what 
he  said,  but  that  it  is  substantially  true,  at 
any  rate,  and  expresses  his  sentiments. 

Annie  Davis  and  Flora  Beavers  were  at  our 
house  once  or  twice  a  day,  and  all  they  talked 
about  was  dress-making.  The  double  wedding 
was  set  for  the  last  of  October,  and  they  had 
to  have  their  clothes  ready.  Ma  got  a  lot  of 
stuff  for  them  in  Kensington  one  day,  and  sent 
305 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

me  to  Davis's  with  it  in  the  evening.  I  found 
Annie  and  Flora  Beavers  and  Orphena  Green 
surrounded  by  what  looked  like  a  whole  dry- 
goods  store  of  stuff.  When  I  went  into  the 
room  they  grabbed  a  lot  of  things  and  put 
them  away  and  told  me  to  wait  in  the  hall. 

"  I  suppose  it  won't  be  long  until  you  will  be 
having  your  wedding  clothes  made,  Orphena?" 
Annie  smiled. 

"Oh,  it  will  be  the  first  of  the  year,  any 
way,"  Orphena  answered,  looking  as  shy  as  if 
she  weren't  over  sixteen. 

It  was  decided  to  have  the  wedding  in  our 
church,  so  that  everybody  could  be  accom 
modated.  Dr.  Milton  said  he  would  have  no 
objection  to  their  having  a  piano  brought  into 
the  church  for  the  occasion,  and  Lizzie  Collins 
was  to  play  the  wedding  -  march.  She  began 
practising  it  the  first  of  October,  and  by  the 
time  for  the  wedding  she  could  play  it  back 
wards  or  forwards,  and  with  her  eyes  shut. 

The  day  before  the  wedding  Oscar  disappear 
ed,  after  coming  into  the  office  for  a  minute  and 
whispering  something  to  Mr.  Bashford,  who 
gave  him  some  money.  They  had  been  hold 
ing  mysterious  consultations  for  two  or  three 
days.  I  would  have  felt  slighted  over  this  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  something  that  happened 
the  week  before.  Mr.  Bashford  brought  an 
306 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

item  back  to  the  case  and  told  me  to  set  it  up. 
It  read: 

"  Miss  Flora  Beavers  and  Mr.  Eli  James  Bashford 
will  be  married  next  Wednesday  at  high  noon  in  the 
Covenanter  Church,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Milton  officiating. 
Mr.  John  Thompson  will  act  as  best  man." 

"But  Mr.  Bashford,"  I  said,  "I'm  only  a 
boy.  I  can't  be  best  man." 

"You're  better  than  most  of  the  men  I  know, 
except  Colquhoun,  and  he  can't  very  well  be 
my  best  man,  for  he  is  to  be  married  at  the 
same  time." 

Yes,"  said  the  Emigger,  handing  me  an  item 
he  had  written.  It  was: 

"  Miss  Anna  Davis  and  Mr.  Asbury  Dabney  Colqu 
houn  will  be  united  in  holy  matrimony  at  the  Cove 
nanter  Church  at  high  noon  of  next  Wednesday.  The 
ceremony  will  be  performed  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hugh 
Milton.  Mr.  John  Thompson  will  be  best  man." 

"And  I'm  to  be  best  man  for  both  of  you?" 
"Exactly,"  Mr.  Bashford  replied.  "It's  the 
only  way  we  can  keep  both  the  girls  from  re 
jecting  us  and  waiting  a  few  years  to  marry 
you.  I  believe  they  both  think  more  of  you 
than  they  do  of  us,  anyhow." 

When  I  told  ma  and  pa  that  I  was  to  be  the 
best  man  for  both  couples,  they  did  not  act 
307 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

the  least  surprised,  and  pa  told  me  to  go  into 
my  room  and  look  on  my  bed.  There  was  a 
fine  new  black  suit,  the  very  kind  I  always  had 
wanted,  for  me  to  wear  at  the  wedding. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  they  were  to  be 
married,  Mr.  Bashford  and  the  Emigger  were 
at  the  office  for  a  little  while.  I  passed  the 
office,  going  home  to  get  washed  up  and 
dressed  in  my  new  suit.  They  called  me  in. 

"Johnny,"  Mr.  Bashford  said,  "I  have  a  lit 
tle  present  for  you." 

He  handed  me  his  old  tobacco-pouch.  It 
was  empty. 

"So  that  is  your  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of 
matrimony,  is  it?"  the  Emigger  asked. 

"Yes.  I  am  still  to  be  permitted  to  smoke, 
but  henceforth  fine -cut  may  never  more  pass 
my  lips.  I  don't  know  how  I  am  going  to 
write  anything  without  my  trusty  pouch  of 
inspiration  at  my  elbow,  but — what  has  to  be 
has  to  be." 

"And  I  have  a  small  trinket  for  you,  too, 
Johnny,"  the  Emigger  said,  opening  his  desk 
and  taking  out  his  revolver. 

"This  is  the  habit  I  have  been  compelled  to 
promise  to  forsake  forever.  So  I  give  it  to 
you,  pardner,  as  a  memento  of  the  times  we 
have  had  together." 

"Let  these  things  be  to  you  a  constant  re- 
308 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

minder  of  two  misspent  young  lives,"  Mr. 
Bashford  said.  "Wait.  Let  me  see  if  there  is 
a  farewell  chew  in  that  pouch.  Alas,  no.  I  am 
a  Phcenix  rising  from  the  ashes  of  my  past." 

"And  there  isn't  a  cartridge  in  the  gun," 
the  Emigger  laughed.  "Take  them,  Johnny, 
and  never  use  either  of  them." 

I  am  not  going  to  tell  any  more  how  pretty 
Annie  Davis  was  the  day  she  was  married,  nor 
am  I  going  to  try  to  tell  how  she  and  Miss 
Beavers  were  dressed.  I  should  have  said  that 
Emma  Wallace  was  bridesmaid  for  Annie  and 
Pearl  Kirkham  for  Flora.  It  was  as  fine  a 
day  as  you  ever  saw.  The  church  was  crowded. 
Squire  Miller  came  up  as  far  as  the  door,  toot 
ling  on  a  locust  leaf,  and  then  threw  the  leaf 
away  before  he  went  in.  Judge  Lambert  and 
his  wife  were  there;  so  was  Captain  McDougal 
in  his  Grand  Army  uniform;  old  Mrs.  Gillup 
had  a  front  seat  at  the  special  request  of  the 
Emigger;  Professor  Jones  sat  with  Mrs.  Lan 
caster  and  our  folks  in  what  are  the  mourners' 
seats  at  funerals.  Mrs.  Anderson  and  Flora 
Banford  were  away  around  on  one  side,  and 
lots  of  folks  from  the  country  that  used  to 
know  the  Emigger  when  he  and  I  drove  the 
wagon  came  in  in  their  buggies  and  carriages. 
Old  Uncle  Abijah  Henderson  hobbled  in  and 
sat  in  one  of  the  back  seats. 
309 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"I's  fum  ol'  Vahginny  mahse'f,"  he  said, 
"an'  I  des  was  boun'  ter  come  ter  de  weddin' 
o'  one  o'  de  Colq'houn's.  Dey's  quality  folks, 
like  I  useter  b'long  ter." 

Wash  Purdy  and  Lafe  Skidmore  and  Ike 
Peters  came  together  and  slipped  into  a  rear 
seat.  I  kept  looking  for  Oscar,  but  he  didn't 
show  up.  When  Mr.  Ferguson  and  his  wife 
came  I  asked  where  Oscar  was,  and  they  said 
he  would  be  along  after  a  while.  At  noon 
everybody  got  quiet.  Mr.  Bashford  and  Flora 
and  Annie  and  the  Emigger  and  the  rest  of  us 
that  were  the  wedding -party  were  waiting  in 
the  lobby.  Lizzie  Collins  sat  at  the  piano 
and  began  playing  the  march. 

"Can  you  keep  step  to  that,  Dabney?"  Mr. 
Bashford  asked. 

"I  hope  I  never  have  to  try  to  again,"  the 
Emigger  said. 

He  and  Mr.  Bashford  and  I  walked  up  the 
aisle  first,  then  came  Emma  Wallace  and  Pearl 
Kirkham  following  Annie,  who  was  on  her 
father's  arm,  and  Flora,  who  was  with  her 
mother.  I  did  not  know  a  wedding  was  such 
a  short  affair.  They  were  married  before  I 
knew  it. 

Then,  when  they  started  out,  everybody 
crowded  around  them  to  shake  hands  with 
them  and  kiss  the  brides  and  congratulate  them. 
310 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

Lizzie  Collins  kept  playing  the  march  that  they 
were  to  have  gone  out  by,  but  they  couldn't 
get  out  until  every  one  had  told  them  how 
fine  they  looked,  and  how  happy  they  should 
be.  Just  as  we  managed  to  get  nearly  to  the 
door  Oscar  came  squeezing  through  the  crowd. 

"  You  got  here  too  late,  Oscar,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Say,  Mr.  Colquhoun, 
there's  a  present  for  you  outside." 

"A  present?" 

Already  Beavers'  house  as  well  as  Davis's 
was  full  of  presents  of  different  kinds,  and  it 
seemed  odd  that  any  one  would  send  some 
thing  to  the  church.  We  pushed  on  through 
as  the  people  thinned  out  of  the  aisle,  only  to 
find  when  we  reached  the  church  steps  that 
the  whole  crowd  was  standing  in  the  yard  and 
smiling  good-naturedly  and  watching  for  the 
Emigger  to  come  out.  And  then  I  understood 
what  Oscar  had  been  so  mysterious  about,  and 
saw  what  the  present  was. 

"If  it  isn't  old  Jeff!"  the  Emigger  ex 
claimed. 

There  was  the  stolen  horse,  tied  to  a  tree, 
with  white  ribbons  in  bows  and  rosettes  and 
streamers  fastened  to  its  mane  and  tail,  and 
looped  around  its  neck  and  fluttering  in  tassels 
from  its  ears.  And  swung  around  its  neck  was 
a  card  reading: 

311 


THE    GENTLEMAN    RAGMAN 

"  With  the  compliments  of  E.  J.  Bashford  and  Oscar 
Ferguson." 

Oscar  had  gone  to  Sabina,  had  found  the 
horse,  and  had  brought  it  home. 

"The  mystery  is  unravelled,"  Mr.  Bashford 
laughed,  "  and,  Oscar,  I  want  that  plaster  foot 
print  for  a  paper-weight." 

So  now  I  draw  the  curtain  at  the  close  of 
this  strange,  eventful  history,  as  Professor 
Jones  would  say.  I  should  only  add  that 
Orphena  Green  and  Pinkney  Sanger  attended 
the  wedding,  and  that  Orphena  had  written  a 
poem  that  she  called  an  "Epithalamium," 
which  she  wanted  to  read,  but  did  not  get  a 
chance  to  do  so.  And  Mr.  Bashford  would 
not  print  it  in  the  Chronicle  that  wreek,  be 
cause,  he  said,  while  it  was  perfectly  true  and 
beautiful,  it  was  too  personal.  So  Orphena 
says  she  will  keep  it  until  after  the  first  of  the 
year,  and  then  rewrite  it  to  fit  another  occasion. 
I  remember  one  stanza  of  it,  which  went: 

"  O  happy  day!     O  hallowed  spot! 

O  love  forever  new! 
Four  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Four  hearts  that  beat  as  two!" 


THE    END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIHRA 

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PS 
3527 


